My Own Worst Enemy
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: After a night of heavy drinking, Draco wakes up fully-clothed to find that his flat is a wreck and several things are missing. Things only get worse from there. MATURE ADULT CONTENT HEREIN ETC.
1. Chapter 1

I wrote this for H/D Smoochfest, which is generally known as a happy, fluffy, cuddly fest and therefore requires me to write the most angsty fics possible. Last year I killed Draco and this time I... well, you'll see. At least it ends well, right? :D**  
**

**Day One**

I woke instantly, horribly, a feeling reminiscent of the days when the Dark Lord had strolled casually through the Manor as if he owned it. I remember during that time, frequently sitting bolt upright with a cry on my lips, hands clutching my blankets with eyes darting wildly in the darkness, seeking something that may or may not have been there moments before.

There was no screaming now, thankfully, but I flung out a hand, groping for solace, seeking the only thing that had ever made the nightmares retreat. My questing fingers encountered nothing but cold linen and my heart constricted with dread even as something ugly slithered through my brain, as cold and insidious as the snake that had once coiled in the lap of a mad wizard.

Nausea followed the twist of fear and I tore away the blankets, kicking my feet free as I stumbled from the bed and entered the bathroom in a blind rush. The way was familiar, thankfully, and the contents of my stomach landed where they should, splashing into the toilet bowl rather than upon the cold tiles of the floor.

_Bloody hell_, I thought as I ran a shaking hand through my hair and then turned on the tap in order to rinse out my mouth, _How much did I fucking drink last night_?

_Too much_ was the obvious answer as I vomited again. I wondered if I would be able to stop long enough to locate a hangover potion. My head felt ready to split open and expel my brain tissue with every heave of my stomach.

After far too many minutes, I was able to stagger from the bathroom to seek out the kitchen, and the hangover remedy that I knew resided in the cupboard closest the pantry. For the dozenth time, I cursed myself for not moving them to the bathroom. Why could I never remember to do it when I was sober?

My steps faltered when I walked through the bedroom. The bed was empty. Not only that, but the room itself seemed empty. Another spasm of nausea shook me and I pushed my thoughts away from that subject and focussed on the kitchen. Once I could think without cringing, I would process what the empty bed meant. Until then it was all I could do to put one foot before the other. The daylight spilling through the windows was agony; of course it would be a bright and cheerful day outside.

"Sunshine in hell," I muttered.

The potion was located after a bit of frantic shuffling of bottles and vials. I had half-feared it would have been hidden or destroyed in a fit of anger, but in truth that was more _my_ style than…

Bracing myself, I pulled the cork and chugged the potion. The remedy was almost worse than the malady. _Almost_. I shuddered at the taste and counted to seven whilst trying to keep the contents inside my already-roiling stomach. When I reached seven, heat exploded through my veins. I dropped the vial and held the countertop with both hands, shaking from the aftereffects. The potion always felt like it literally _burned_the alcohol remnants from my bloodstream.

I sat down at the kitchen table and considered preparing a cup of tea. My headache slowly ebbed, leaving an unfortunate clarity behind. My eyes slid over the surfaces of the kitchen, noticing that a number of things were missing. My nausea had faded, but it sought to return with a vengeance as something resembling lead seemed to take up residence in the pit of my belly.

What had I done last night? What had I said? I vaguely recalled leaving the bar, utterly smashed. We had been celebrating—it seemed we were always celebrating something, Blaise, Pansy, and I, although such occasions were more excuses to drink and act like the world was ours than actual events of joy—we had been celebrating the engagement of Blaise's mother to groom number… whatever. The memory brought a ghost of a smile to my lips.

It faded when I remembered what had come after. I had been too pissed to Apparate. I should have taken the Floo, but instead I had connived a broom from someone… I shut my eyes and rubbed a hand over my hair, still hopelessly tangled from the wind and rain. Why had I done that?

The door had been locked. In my miserable state, I had barely been able to locate my wand; no way in hell could I have managed the complicated Locking Charms. I'd got the brilliant idea to enter through a window, smashing the glass with a Levitated rock.

I glanced towards the living room and wondered if the window was still broken or if someone had repaired it.

Someone who was no longer here.

The cold fist squeezed my heart and I shot to my feet, dreading what I would see, but needing to know. I stormed into the other room, angry words on my lips, hoping he was there, praying I had merely overlooked him. I was ready to reprise the shouting we had done the night before, seeking to lessen the panic that threatened to overwhelm me.

He was not there. Neither were most of his things, a horrible truth I had tried to ignore on my first pass through the room. I groped blindly for the sofa and sat down, scanning the room whilst casting my mind back to our argument. We had fought. Of course we had fought, but we_always_ fought. It's what we did. It's who we were, Harry and I.

This fight, however, had been particularly ugly. He had shouted at me for breaking the window. I glanced at it; the panes had been repaired, good as new. He must have done it, although I did not recall that bit. I had shouted back, accusing him of intentionally placing too many Locking Charms on the door and trying to keep me out.

I winced, recalling his face. "That's rich," he had said, "when I've been doing everything in my power to keep you _in_."

"Nothing is stopping you from coming with me," I'd returned, throwing the broom aside and gearing up for the argument, regardless of how many times we had covered the same ground.

"You know why I don't! Why do you have to go running to them every time they crook their fingers?"

"They're my _friends_!" My voice had risen to a shout. I winced now to remember it. Why did I always find it necessary to scream at him? If only I could _shut up_ he might not be so easy to provoke. I sank back into the couch and rubbed my eyes. I knew why I always behaved like a prick. Because I was fucked up. I wanted his attention, but I also wanted to spurn him to show that I did not need it, that I did not need _him_.

He had never left before. My stomach roiled and I took several deep breaths. He would be back, I told myself. He would.

I knew I should go back to bed and sleep away the last vestiges of my hangover, but I could not summon the energy to rise. I closed my eyes and tried to think about nothing.

ooOOooOOoo

_"Once again you've made enough bloody noise to wake the neighbours." His tone was scathing. He stood in the doorway with arms crossed over his bare chest, looking unbearably self-righteous._

_I snorted and opened the pantry door. Where the hell had I put that bottle of Firewhiskey? My buzz was starting to wear off in the face of his rage. "I think your shouting is more of a danger of waking the neighbours than my window breaking. AND I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE NEIGHBORS!" I enjoyed shouting the last bit and smirked to myself as I pushed aside a bag of something that might have been onions._

_"I'm beginning to think you don't care about anyone," he snapped._

_"Oh, you would think that, Mr Pot-Kettle." I shoved aside a jar of pickled something a bit too hard. It slipped off the shelf and smashed on the floor._

_"What is that supposed to mean?"_

_I glanced over my shoulder. I could tell he was itching to cast a _Reparo_ and clean up the mess, but his wand was nowhere in evidence. I could have done it myself, but in my current state it would probably do more harm than good._

_"It means," I stated in my most superior tone, "that all you care about is work. Work, work, work, that's all you do."_

_"I have a job," he growled. "It's important."_

_"'Look at me,'" I mocked, leaving the pantry and heading for a cupboard near the sink, "'my job is so important that I must spend all my time at it and neglect everything else, just in case someone forgets I am the Saviour of the whole wide world'."_

_"That's not fucking true. Just because I don't spent every waking moment planning my next party or _napping_ so I'll have the energy to stay up all night getting drunk with my useless, lazy friends—"_

_I gasped in faux shock. "You just called Granger and the Weasel useless and lazy? I'm owling them right now."_

_"I was talking about _your_ stupid friends, you arse. None of you contribute a jot to society, instead you sit around lamenting about how hard things are and how no one likes you and they don't understand how difficult your miserable lives are." He picked up my mocking tone and flung it back to me with just the right inflection to fan my annoyance into full-blown anger._

_I snatched a glass from the countertop and hurled it. It shattered on the wall next to him. He straightened in surprise, arms uncrossing as his eyes widened. "It _is_ hard, you bastard. You think I can just waltz into a respectable wizarding establishment and ask for a job with _this_ on my arm?" I tore at my shirt sleeve and ripped it upwards. The buttons tore away and plinked across the floor. My nails scraped across the darkened scar of the Dark Mark and I felt a hot flare of satisfaction as he winced and looked away._

_My anger burned at the gesture. I knew he hated my Dark Mark. He hated it almost as much as did the pretentious fuckwits who avoided me on the street, or jostled roughly into me and called me "scum" under their breaths, or those that pointed fingers and shot me disapproving glares as they leaned down to whisper to their wide-eyed children. _

_I hated it also, but that made it no easier to bear whenever Harry flinched away or avoided looking at it, because it was a part of me, despised or not._

_"You haven't even tried," he muttered._

_"Fuck you," I snarled, because he was right._

_ooOOooOOoo  
_

I woke up with my own angry words echoing through my memory. The shadows were longer and my neck ached from the awkward position in which I'd fallen asleep. The emptiness of the flat seemed to mock me as I got to my feet.

My headache was back, stabbing behind my eyes as though sent by Harry to torment me. I walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower with a flick of my wand. I stripped and eased under the hot spray, letting it pound over my head and sluice down over my skin. I shook off memories of us there, hands splayed against the cold tiles, his black hair wet and gleaming, our soap-slicked skin and gasping breaths…

I groaned and thought of nothing as I shampooed my hair and then scrubbed away the residual scent of the club, of Pansy's cloying perfume and the cologne of the last man I had danced with. It seemed forever ago.

My stomach growled when I exited and dried myself. Normally Harry would have cooked something by now, and forced me to eat it whilst listening to my complaints or the reiteration of Pansy's fourth-hand gossip. He always pretended interest even though it likely bored him witless. Despite the fact that we were together, we had little in common.

I sighed at the thought. What did we have, really, other than brilliant sex? We had separate friends, different interests, and lives that seldom intersected outside of our own flat. It was inevitable we wouldn't last. My friends mentioned it often enough that it seemed an irrefutable fact.

I put on my clothes and Flooed to one of our favourite eateries, possibly hoping he would be there. He wasn't, and I told myself I was not disappointed.

ooOOooOOoo

_He shot me a glare and left the kitchen. It was obvious he wanted to say more and it was apparent even in my inebriated state that this argument had been building for a long time. Tension had been growing between us, every time Harry came home late from yet another extended mission, and every time I left to meet my friends._

_I was drunk enough to follow, common sense having abandoned me several glasses earlier._

_"Is that what you want?" I demanded, shouting at his back as he headed towards the bedroom. "Do you want me to get a stupid job that keeps me away from home for days on end? And when I am in town I will stay so late at the office that I cannot do anything but fall into bed and sleep the moment I get home?"_

_Harry made a scoffing noise as he entered the bedroom, not bothering to turn around. "As if you even notice what time I get home. Most of the time you aren't even here, since you spend three to five nights a week out clubbing with your friends."_

_My fists clenched. He had no bloody idea what it was like, waiting up, wondering if he would even come home, imagining horrible scenarios like a stray spell or an unforeseen circumstance bringing him down. I had always been susceptible to nightmares and the Voldemort years had honed my overactive imagination into portents of doom that led to genuine panic attacks. I had begun going out more and more due to my inability to sleep. Alcohol kept the worry at a safe level._

_Eventually I had almost forgotten to worry at all._

ooOOooOOoo

I waved away the waiter's suggestion of wine, not ready to imbibe, and vaguely sickened at the thought of any sort of alcohol.

I ate listlessly, my appetite waning after a few bites. I left some coins on the table and Flooed home. I had spent time alone there before, Merlin knew, but for some reason it had never seemed so empty. Perhaps it had only been the expectation of Harry's eventual return that had filled the open spaces.

Then again, there had never been so many open spaces. I frowned when I took stock of the things he had taken. Two blue vases were missing from the mantle, a red and gold pillow from the couch, two photos of Teddy—I felt a pang when I saw the photo of us still in its place—and a half-dead fern that Longbottom had given him as a housewarming gift.

I wandered into the bedroom. Nearly all of his clothing was gone. Only the things he seldom wore remained, probably forgotten in the heat of his anger. A set of dress robes hung at the back of the wardrobe and one lone t-shirt lay at the foot of the bed. I picked it up and folded it before placing it back in his empty drawer.

The desk was a surprise. We had picked it out together, an impulse buy when we had been walking (and arguing) in Eventu Alley after I had dragged him there in search of a cobbler that Blaise had mentioned. The desk had been stood in a window, covered in kitsch and a horrific vase filled with faux flowers, but it had caught Harry's eye. I had reluctantly entered the store and agreed that the desk would look grand in our bedroom. He had brought it home and installed it next to the bed, then proceeded to cover it in case files and parchment and quills—his oasis of mess in the midst of order. I frequently complained about it being a cluttered nightmare, especially when the clutter spilled onto the floor and made its way towards the bed.

He had always smiled and reshuffled the stacks, or packed things away in the drawers before distracting me with kisses or a blowjob. I sat in the desk chair and expelled a frustrated breath. I missed his mouth, even when it was yelling at me. Where the hell was he?

I opened a drawer and was not surprised to find it empty. The top was no longer cluttered, but it seemed barren and cold without the debris that normally decorated it.

I shut the drawer with a bang and a voice rang from the other room. Pansy.

"Still alive after last night?" she asked with a smirk when I exited the bedroom. She frowned. "Why does it look different in here?"

"Probably because Harry took the bookshelf when he left," I said, not really registering it until I said the words aloud. It had been a short unit, filled with all the books Granger had given to him. He had never cracked the covers of most of them.

Pansy blinked at me. "He left?"

I shrugged, striving for casual.

"He _left_ you?"

I glared at her.

"That… That bastard!" Her tone rang with more amazement than anger and I frowned, wondering at her surprise. She and Blaise had been telling me for months that it would never work out between us. Not in so many words, of course, but with innuendo and subtle digs.

I made a noncommittal noise and adjusted the flowers in the vase on the sideboard. The vase was Harry's; either he hadn't wanted it or had forgotten it belonged to him. Probably the latter.

"Well," she said. "Well, then, you need to come out with us so that we can… can…" She waited, obviously hoping I would fill in the empty spaces. Was I angry? I supposed I was somewhere beneath the hollow disbelief.

"I don't feel like going out," I said.

"Draco—"

"I drank a rather large quantity last night, obviously. I just want to sleep. I am fine."

She looked dubious and took a step towards me, possibly intent on folding me into a sympathetic embrace. I wanted none of it. I scowled and stepped away. "You are right, however, Potter is a right bastard. I will appreciate you and Blaise having a drink for me and cursing his name. Not literally, mind you, as I don't need either of you arrested."

She brightened at my words and nodded. "Very well. So long as you aren't moping. We all knew…" She trailed off at my warning look and nodded curtly. "A bastard. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, fine," I said and waved her away, knowing any other response would generate a protest.

When Pansy finally left I went to the bedroom, disrobed, and crawled into bed. I curled around the pillow and breathed in Harry's lingering scent.

_Fuck_, I thought as I shut my eyes and willed myself to sleep.

~TBC~


	2. Chapter 2

_Potter was drunk. Not pleasantly tipsy, but the sort of drunk that caused one to lean against the nearest vertical surface in order to avoid toppling sideways. The surface Potter had chosen was a Transfigured marble column that would likely morph back into a plain stone by morning. I debated sidling away before he saw me, being not-quite-sober myself, but then those green eyes lifted and fixed on me. For a moment they seemed clear and intense, giving lie to his apparent drunkenness, but then a grin quirked his lips and he beckoned to me._

_I hesitated, but the champagne I had imbibed seemed to propel me forwards. "Potter," I said._

_"Malfoy," he replied and then added, "Draco. Dra-coooooh." He giggled._

_I was not amused, but felt no urge to snarl at him. My mood had been strangely light all day, no doubt fuelled by my mother's evident happiness. A row with Potter would mar what had been a rather brilliant day. I turned to take my leave._

_Potter's hand snatched out and gripped my arm. "I'm sorry," he said. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. Just… um. Stay. Will you?"_

_I sighed and detached his hand by lifting his index finger and depositing it several inches away. "Why?"_

_"'Cause everything is spinning," he replied. "Except you."_

_I sniggered. "How drunk are you, Potter?"_

_His head bobbed up and down several times. "Sooooo drunk. Firewhiskey's good stuff. I prolly shouldn't have had. So much." He lifted a finger and held it before his lips in a shushing gesture. "Don' tell H-mione. She tole me to stop." It was that moment, strangely, when I noticed Potter had nice lips, perfectly bow-shaped. I wondered that I had never seen it before._

_I glanced around, looking for his friends. They usually stuck close enough to act as Potter's appendages. "Is that why you're hiding here?"_

_"Not hiding," he corrected and pushed away from the pillar in an obvious attempt to stand straight. "Resting. From people."_

_Resting from people. It should have made no sense, but in Potter's case it did. I had been somewhat surprised to find him in attendance. My aunt Andromeda had astonished everyone by falling for a wizard from an ancient pure-blooded family. They had embarked on a very public courtship followed by a gigantic wedding. To everyone's surprise, my mother had welcomed Andromeda back into the family as though she had never left. I think much of the surprise came from my father's lack of response—although he seldom responded to anything these days. I knew my mother had been lonely._

_Potter's success in standing upright came to an abrupt halt when he tried to take a step. His foot caught on something—probably air—and sent him sprawling over me in a flurry of flailing arms and wide eyes. Surprised, I caught him and just kept us both from tumbling._

_"What. Are you doing?" I demanded._

_He stared up at me and his lips were not only kissable, but his eyes were huge and his lashes unbelievably long beneath his ridiculous glasses. One of his hands rested on my shoulder whilst the other clutched my bicep. His torso pressed against mine as I bore half his weight. Potter was slender, but no lightweight. There was muscle on his frame and the thought of it crushing me, naked and sweat-slicked, nearly caused me to shove him away with an oath. The image was so powerful and lust-inducing that I wondered if he had learned some mental-manipulation tricks during Auror training._

_"You're pretty," he said._

_I snorted, but he reached up to pat a hand on my hair. My breath caught._

_"And soft," he said and stroked my hair once before thrusting a hand into it. His fingers grazed roughly over my scalp and my heart skipped a beat. I had always loved having my hair touched, one reason Pansy had risen so high in my favour in school; she had never been able to resist brushing and touching my hair. Feeling Potter's hand there brought an entirely different response than any caused by Pansy._

I want him_, I thought with a clarity that cut through my alcoholic haze like a Severing Charm. It was sobering and somewhat terrifying. The scandal would be immense if we were even seen together in such proximity. My aunt's wedding would be ruined and my mother would be disappointed. That alone caused me to push Potter away._

_"Hands off, Potter," I said, trying for stern. I feared that I might have sounded regretful._

_The push was only partly successful. Potter's hand left my hair and the other one detached from my arm, but only long enough for Potter to sway away and then pitch forwards again to clutch at me even more tightly._

_"Ground is moving," he explained._

_"The ground is not moving, you oaf. You're drunk. Where are your annoying friends when you need them? Are you _petting_ me?"_

_"Robes are nice," Potter said, stroking his hand over my chest again. I was thankful for the thickness of the white fabric that kept my rapidly hardening nipples from becoming visible. Potter's hair brushed against my face and I shut my lips on a groan. The idiot even smelled nice, a tantalizing mixture of earthiness and musk that went straight to my addled brain._

_"Yes, they are. Now stop touching me."_

_"Need your help Malffle… Malfff… Dra-coooooh."_

_"You definitely need help. But not from me."_

_"I jus' need you to get me to a Floo," Potter said. "Can't App-rate. Splinch."_

_"I am not so sure you can Floo, either," I said dryly, but resolved to do my good deed for the decade. Perhaps it would even cancel one of those pesky Life Debts, since Potter would likely Splinch himself and die without assistance. It was a slender chance, but potentially worth the risk. And if we stayed to the shadows and avoided everyone, then no one would know but the two of us._

_"Fine, but you owe me."_

_"I owe you," Potter said and nuzzled my neck._

**Day Two**

I jerked awake. The memory of Harry's hair brushing against my face was almost tangible. I reached out desperately, hoping to encounter another body, but there was nothing except empty space.

I sat up, feeling a lump of panic. What if he never returned? I stumbled from the bed and did not bother with a dressing gown. I walked to the living room and dropped to my knees before the fireplace with a handful of Floo Powder.

"Ron Weasley's residence," I stated.

The fire flared green and then orange. I gnashed my teeth. Blocked. Had it always been closed to me, or was this a recent development? I had never tried to contact Weasley and Granger before. For the first time I wondered why I had never bothered to befriend Harry's friends. I had told myself that they would never accept me, but perhaps the opposite was true.

I deflated with a sigh of frustration. I hated the way my mind always raced in the early hours of the morning, making each tiny problem seem insurmountable and panic-inducing. The fact that this one might actually _be_ insurmountable made my palms cold with sweat.

I walked to Harry's desk and opened drawers until I found a stack of parchment. I held it pensively for a moment and touched the initials at the top with a fingertip. I had purchased the stationery for him, complete with a gold-embellished **HJP** at the top. He seldom used it.

I Conjured a quill and jotted a quick note. A small magically-expanded cupboard off the living room housed our owls. My owl stared at me with an expression that seemed accusing. Did he miss Harry's owl? I thought it likely.

I attached the message to his leg and avoided a nip. Oh yes, he was angry at me. "Take this to Harry," I said.

The owl flapped his wings with more force than I thought necessary and flew through the owl-sized opening into the night sky.

I shut the door resolutely and went back to bed.

When I awoke at a more decent hour, the owl was back in the cupboard and my note was still attached to its leg. Perhaps sending it in the middle of the night had been a bad idea? I gave Titan an owl treat and sent him off again. Harry was at work by now and a trip to the Ministry should not take long.

Titan returned an hour later. The message was gone, but there was no reply. I wanted to grab the bird and shake it. Had Harry even read the message, or had he simply taken it and incinerated it without bothering to open it?

In the kitchen I made a cup of tea and then sat at the table without drinking until it grew cold. I replayed our argument over and over, although my memories of it were hazy. What had I said that had made him so angry?

ooOOooOOoo

_I should have known better than to attempt a plan. For some reason known only to the fickle gods, my plans seldom worked out. On the rare occasions they had, they typically ended in disaster, so even success could be measured as failure. At any rate, the _plan_ was to smuggle Potter into my aunt's house and sent him home via the Floo Network._

_It might have worked had Potter not decided to pass out. One moment he was staggering next to me, leaning most of his not-inconsequential weight upon me, and the next he was limp as a sack of hippogriff droppings._

_"Potter! Wake up!" I snapped, trying to keep from toppling beneath his weight._

_I should have left him there, drunken and insensible, for his friends to find. Chances were good he would not have recalled meeting me and everything that came after… would not have happened._

_Instead, I heard footsteps on the gravel path and panicked. I can only blame too much drink on the stupidity of my actions, but it had seemed the only recourse at the time._

_I Apparated Potter and I away. Straight to my bedroom at Malfoy Manor._

_Amazingly, we made it without injury. I can only assume it was part familiarity with the location on my part, and a dash of Potter's amazing luck. I dragged Potter to my bed and shoved him unceremoniously thereon. He sprawled, looking lifeless, but I ignored him and headed for my bathing chamber. I intended to be the victim of no more stupidity that night and meant to make certain of it by purging the alcohol from my system._

_A bit of haphazard sorting through my potions cabinet finally revealed a Sobriety Serum. The tiny vial was half as large as my thumb, but it packed a punch. I wrinkled my nose, sorry to see my pleasantly inebriated state depart. Still, I had a very drunk and apparently amorous Harry Potter passed out on my bed. Sobriety was far preferred to Azkaban should I find myself unable to behave rationally._

_I tossed the potion back and then cringed and gripped the edges of the sink. Bloody hell, but the effects were unpleasant. Not for the first time, I wondered at the identity of the sadist that had invented it. Surely there were less excruciating ingredients? I made a mental note—possibly the thousandth—to check into alternatives when time permitted._

_I had just relieved my too-full bladder and towelled the sweat from my face and neck when the door opened to reveal a shock of messy black hair with enormous green eyes beneath. I blinked at Potter for a moment and wondered at the attractiveness of his face without the ugly dark-rimmed spectacles._

_"Malfoy?" he asked._

_"How blind are you, Potter?" I asked. "And where are your glasses?" Perhaps there had been an Apparition accident, after all, and I had Splinched the glasses from his face._

_"I see you," he said and walked closer. "You're just a bit… fuzzy."_

_"That could be short-sightedness or the large quantity of liquor you consumed."_

_"Both, I think," he said and then latched onto me. The light in his eyes was mesmerizing. "I'm going to kiss you now."_

_"Potter—" I began, but then his lips were on mine, alcohol-flavoured and determined. As kisses went, it was not the best, but it was by far not the worst. I shoved him away when his tongue prodded at my lips, urging them to open. "Stop it, Potter. You're drunk and have obviously gone mad. You probably don't even know who I am."_

_"Do know," Potter said and peppered kisses along my jaw. His hands found my hair again and weakness stole over me, weakness that had to be fought at any cost. His voice vibrated against my throat when he reached it. "Dra-coooooh."_

_I shut my eyes as my knees threatened to give way. I felt drunk again, particularly when Potter's thigh thrust between my legs, gently, as though asking permission prior to intruding. I struggled to speak, to halt Potter's madness. Just… oh, his leg felt so good rubbing against my balls; and my cock was suddenly hot and heavy._

_"Potter, stop," I whispered._

_His thigh pressed closer, grinding the vee of his leg into my cock. I wanted to rut against him. I wanted to tear his clothing off and feel every inch of him, right there in my bathroom._

_"Stop?" he asked in what sounded like a puzzled whimper. He pulled away slightly, and _stopping_ seemed like the worst idea in the history of ever. "Oh god, you don't want me. What am I doing?"_

_Potter backed away as if I had become poisonous. I lamented the loss of his warmth and his hands in my hair. He looked tragically lost, his eyes magnified by his lack of spectacles._

_"That's not—" I lifted a hand, unwilling despite the lust coursing through my veins, to draw him back again. "Look, Potter, you're terrifically drunk. You likely won't even remember this in the morning. Can we just…?"_

_Potter kept backing away until he bumped into the sink. He buried his face in his hands and made a sound almost like a sob. _Salazar, please don't let him cry_, I thought desperately._

_"Yes. Drunk. I should go home." Thankfully, his voice was steady and not tearful. I nearly sighed with relief until Potter turned to march out of the room._

_I caught him halfway across my bedchamber. "No! No, Potter, you don't want to wander around the manor. That would be…" Well, Father would kill him on principle and make up some story about trespassing or being startled from sleep or… My mind shied away at the possibilities and I gripped Potter's shoulder tightly. "How about you just… sleep here?" I gestured at the bed._

_"With you?" he asked and I had to pray for strength to avoid the pornographic images conjured by his words and earnest expression._

_"No," I replied. "But I will be right here if you need anything. And I shall send an owl to Granger and the Weas—to Ron Weasley to let them know you are alive and well. All right?"_

_Potter looked at the bed and then sighed heavily. "I am tired."_

_I relaxed my grip and patted his shoulder. "Excellent. You get into bed and I will pop off to the Owlery to send a note. Acceptable?"_

_To my relief, Potter nodded and trudged back to the bed. Pausing only to kick off his shoes, he pulled back the blankets and crawled into my bed. I shook my head and went to send an owl, making certain to triple-lock my door upon exiting to prevent Potter from wandering._

ooOOooOOoo

I was in a snit by noon. I blocked the Floo and ignored several owl messages sent by Blaise, no doubt railing at me for closing the Floo. Every so often I would pull out my wand and point it at the fireplace, certain that Harry was trying to return only to find the way blocked… until reality intruded and reminded me that Harry could always Apparate in. I hadn't changed the wards to keep him out.

By late afternoon my annoyance had turned to self-disgust and I vowed to get out of the flat. I decided a trip to Diagon Alley was in order. I was not planning to show up at the Ministry—tempting though it was—and take the chance of Harry throwing me out of his office in front of curious onlookers. But occasionally the Auror department would convene at a seedy pub on the corner of Diagon and Addition Alleys. Despite several invitations from Harry, I had never joined them in their departmental bonding, so I would be out of place dropping in unexpectedly. However, there would be no harm in casually walking past at a certain time.

I wasted an hour in Flourish and Blotts examining their stock of parchment. Harry might never use his stationery but I used mine to excess, and frequently needed to replenish my supply. The clerk on duty was a bored teen, probably just out of Hogwarts for the summer. He calculated my purchases and wrapped them haphazardly with barely a glance at me. I told him to send them to my flat, unsure whether to be grateful or irritated by my anonymity. Soon there would be generations of people to whom the war would be nothing more than a tale told by their elders.

I glanced out the window, populated with people who would not so easily forget the war, nor the Dark Mark and what it had meant. I tugged at my sleeve reflexively and exited the shop. Two steps brought me to a near-collision with an unwelcome pedestrian. She stopped short and her eyes widened before narrowing to slits.

"_Malfoy_. What are you doing here?"

My hands were inside my robe pockets and one curled tightly around my wand. I itched to hex her, even surreptitiously. Instead I affected a bored stare, mimicking the teenager I had just left in the bookstore. "Ginevra," I replied politely with barely a twist of my upper lip, "my business is none of yours."

She sneered and tossed her red hair over one shoulder. Her robes were elegant, much too elaborate for a simple afternoon of shopping, although I would not expect a Weasley to know better. I wondered where she had acquired them. Generally the Weasleys could not afford robes of Twilfit and Tattings' quality – the filigree bore Madame Twilfit's distinctive touch. Perhaps the brother with the joke shop had purchased the robes for her.

She said, "If you're looking for Harry, don't waste your time. He's done with you."

My fingers tightened as six different spells nearly choked me in an effort to escape, each more gruesome than the last. I fought them back and curled my lip at her. "I prefer to let Harry speak for himself. Gossips carrying tall tales do not interest me."

Her eyes were like flint, but she laughed and then shook her head. "In denial, are you? Poor thing. But they say actions speak louder than words, don't they? I suppose the fact that Harry is taking me to La Trombe di Vite tonight is a statement loud enough for even you to understand."

The urge to hex her grew stronger. She had to be lying.

"Face it, Malfoy," she said with a smirk, "Harry finally came to his senses and tossed you aside, just like everyone knew he would. Don't embarrass yourself by throwing yourself at him. It's pathetic."

I thought of Azkaban and its cold cells, filled with the screams of mad prisoners. I imagined the iron bars shutting me in. That alone kept me from taking her down with something deadly. A slow count of twenty steadied my shaking hands.

"You should get your facts straight, Weasley," I said finally. "Although I'm not surprised he didn't tell you the truth. It wouldn't be the first time he lied to you, now would it?" I forced a nasty chuckle and then bypassed her, close enough that a quick jab of my shoulder would have knocked her into the side of the building—how I resisted even that, I will never know. "Have a _lovely_ evening."

I walked briskly away from her and did not stop until I rounded the corner and was well out of her sight. Only then did I duck into the shadow of an ivy-draped alcove. I leaned against the wall, shaking. I could barely see through a haze of rage.

If she wasn't lying—and her robes hinted that she was not—then Harry was taking her to the finest restaurant in wizarding London. A _romantic_restaurant. I thought I might be sick.

_Harry came to his senses and tossed you aside_. Her words played over and over in my head, delivered in her caustic, smug tones. _Like everyone knew he would_.

I Apparated home.

Pacing seemed to magnify the frantic beating of my heart and my eyes lit on the photograph of Harry and me on the mantle. It had been cut from the _Daily Prophet_, of all things, an illicit photo of a stolen moment. Harry had been laughing and leaning close to me. My expression had been severe at first, but my stoicism had been no match for Harry's brilliant mood. A smile had quirked my lips and Harry's kiss had pressed against them a moment later, mouth still open and laughing. Even now it nearly made me smile, until the memory of Ginny Weasley's smug face returned.

I snatched the photo and hurled it across the room. The glass shattered as it bounced against the wall and slid across the floor, ending up somewhere beneath the sofa.

The bar was my next target. A silver tray stacked with glasses sailed across the room and clanged against the painting of an autumn landscape, denting the wooden frame. The glasses hadn't made it far, falling in a cascade and smashing on the hardwood floor. One survived, landing upon the woollen rug, until I pulled out my wand and pulverized it with a spell.

A slashing spell cut across the painting, ripping the canvas in three places. Harry had loved that painting. I had, too, except now I could only see the red of Ginny Weasley's hair in the leaves. Another spell sent his favourite chair across the room to thud against a small table. A lamp thereon toppled and fell to the floor. It did not break, but the shade deformed with a pleasant crunching sound.

Breathing hard, I surveyed the mess. My fit of destruction had done nothing to abate the tight fist that seemed to be clenched around my heart.

I turned on a heel and walked to the bedroom. I stood in the centre of the room for a moment, at a loss as to what to do. I wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. I wanted to go back in time and stop myself from bringing Harry Potter home that fateful night.

The latter was not possible, so I located a vial of Dreamless Sleep, drank it, and shed my clothing before falling into bed.

_~TBC~ - that means to be continued... :D  
_


	3. Chapter 3

**Day Three**

The next morning my head was pounding and my mouth felt like barnacles had taken up residence on my tongue. I detested Dreamless Sleep, but at least I was somewhat rested. After a shower and some decent attire, I felt almost human.

At least until I reached the kitchen and saw the Daily Prophet sitting on the table. I ignored it and wished my intuition was not always so bloody accurate. I knew something in the terrible rag would upset me and I did not want to see it. For one moment, I wished I had not been so fucking adamant about receiving the newspaper—Harry and I had fought about it more than once. He hated it with a passion and preferred to receive his news secondhand, through the filter of his friends. I had told him I'd no desire for a watered-down version of events.

"Events that seldom happen the way they are reported," he had replied with derision.

I shook my head and made breakfast, such as it was. I soft-cooked an egg within its shell and scooped out the contents with a spoon, topping each bite with a generous splash of Tabasco sauce. I pretended Harry hadn't been the one to addict me to the peppery condiment.

After two cups of hot tea, I felt fortified enough to sit down at the table. I picked up the paper.

The half-page photo nearly caused me to lose my breakfast. Ginny Weasley's smiling face beamed out at me; her eyes seemed to fix on me challengingly before swinging to meet Harry's. They were walking out of La Trombe di Vite—_she hadn't lied_—and Harry raised a hand to shield his face from the inevitable photographers. His arm was slung casually around the Weaselette's shoulders and she leaned close to him to say something. Whatever it was made Harry laugh and lower his hand. His green eyes shone into the camera for a moment and my fists clenched, crumpling the headline that seemed to scream it me.

**_THE GOLDEN COUPLE – TOGETHER AGAIN FOR GOOD?_**

The newspaper caught fire. I flung it onto the floor and watched it burn with surprise. My heart was hammering in my chest and I struggled for control. I had not done wandless, out-of-control magic in years.

I pulled out my wand and sprayed water on the smouldering rag, and then Vanished the whole mess.

It had not taken Harry long to forget me.

I had barely finished the thought before a commotion drew me to the next room. I was hardly surprised at the sight of owls battering at the windows, most likely filled with messages from reporters wondering why the Chosen One had thrown me over.

I shut the curtains with a snarl and locked myself in the bedroom for the rest of the day, determinedly ignoring everything but the Howlers, which could not be kept out by any spell I knew. Most of them were the vindicated shrieking of Harry's fan club, shouting that it was about time he came to his senses, some demanding to know what spell I had used that he had finally thrown off.

Only the one from Pansy demanding that I unblock my Floo or loosen my wards to admit her made me shift with a guilty twinge. I incinerated it with the others, however, and drew the blankets over my head to shut out the world.

ooOOooOOoo

_Potter was sound asleep when I returned. I walked around the other side of the bed and then lay down next to him in order to observe his still form. He was not quite so attractive whilst sleeping. His mouth was open and he snored a bit. His glasses were half-crushed beneath his shoulder; he must have lost them earlier._

_I reached out and wrestled them free before Levitating them to the bedside table. I yawned, feeling the effects of the eventful day. I knew I should have Transfigured my chaise into a bed, as I had planned, but instead I stripped off my clothing and crawled into bed next to Potter. Chances were good that we would never draw near enough to touch—my bed was enormous. As a child, I had once slept with Greg, Vince, and Blaise and we had all been quite comfortable until Greg's habit of hoarding the blankets and sleeping sideways had aborted that experiment._

_With one last glance at Potter's black hair spread out upon the pillow, I closed my eyes, cast an absent, "_Nox_!" and fell asleep._

_I woke up with a warm, willing body in my arms. Downy soft hair brushed over my face and the sound of hushed, panting gasps filled my ears. I smiled as my wrist twisted and an erotic groan replaced an exhale. The cock in my hand was hard and hot and oh-so-thick. Quite the handful._

_"Draco. God."_

_The voice snapped my eyes open and my hand stopped moving as my blood went cold. Time seemed to drop into a vortex and halt for the period of several terrified heartbeats, or possibly several years._

_"Don't stop." Round buttocks rocked back against my cock. My eyes fluttered half-closed again from the sensation, but I was fully awake now._

_Awake, and apparently well on the way to giving Harry Potter a hand job. In my sleep._

_"I…" Where to begin? With the awkward apology or the shouted demand to exit my bed at once?_

_"Please," he said and gripped my wrist to guide my hand back into motion._

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck and double-fuck. Potter had to be drunk. Still drunk, and how much had he imbibed the night before, anyway?_

_Potter fucked himself on my hand, rocking back and forth and causing unbearable pressure on my cock._

_"Draco," he said again, pleading._

_I gave in. How could I not? My hand sped of its own accord and I blocked out all thought, concentrating only on Potter's needy babbling, which mostly consisted of, "Oh god, oh yes" and "Draco" in between heavy breathing and groans of pleasure. My left arm ached at the unfamiliar motion—I was right-handed, after all—but once begun I refused to stop._

_When Potter came it was nearly anti-climactic. He did not cry out or scream, he simply stiffened and his gasps became harsh and then muffled completely. Biting his lip? I wondered if that was a leftover of wanking in a communal dormitory. He shuddered and I felt it through the length of my body, pressed as he was against me._

_His release missed me entirely, but for a damp spot that must have spurted onto the sheet and grazed over my thumb as I stroked the remnants from his shuddering cock._

_"God," he said again and stilled my hand by tightening his grip, still clamped around my wrist._

_I stopped moving and nearly stopped breathing, as I considered the best way to disappear. If I had my wand, I would have Apparated away, possibly to China or South Africa. As it was, my left hand was curled loosely around Potter's cock and my right was trapped between my chest and his shoulder blade, already protesting the position with a pins and needles sensation. My wand was under my pillow where I'd left it the night before, utterly useless in my present predicament._

_For one of the first times in my life, I was utterly at a loss for words. I could hardly berate Potter for untoward conduct when I was the one wrapped around him, stroking his cock._

_He rolled over and I caught a momentary flash of green before he growled and pushed me onto my back. _Here it comes_, I thought, _first the shouting and then the physical violence_. To my surprise, however, there were no words at all, and the only sign of violence was the force with which Potter planted his lips onto mine._

_Surprise kept me from doing more than lying still until Potter's tongue thrust into my mouth and explored eagerly. I reached up and curled my hands around his biceps, intent upon pushing him away and stopping this madness. I wondered if he were under a spell. Had someone slipped a slow-action potion into one of his drinks the night before?_

_Potter's hand, however, found my cock. My desire to protest died a swift and inglorious death beneath the onslaught of Potter's fist._

_"There you are," he murmured against my lips. "Fucking brilliant. I'm going to make you come so hard you'll see your own constellation." I blinked at that and tried to speak, because, honestly, but Potter's mouth closed back over mine and all I could manage were muffled, unintelligible sounds. His hand stroked brilliantly, worked up and down my length and wrapping around the crown of my cock in a gripping, pulling movement that made my eyes roll back into my head._

_"Potter," I tried weakly when his mouth finally left mine._

_"Harry," he corrected and blazed a trail down the side of my throat to my chest. His hot mouth found a new target—my left nipple—and latched onto it like a starving calf on his mother's teat. I shivered and arched against him. My nipples had always been too-sensitive, with a direct link straight to my cock._

_"Pot—Harry," I said, knowing I had to stop him before this went too far. Or farther, since it had already gone well beyond "too far" and had reached the borders of "surreal"._

_"Going to pay you back for that brilliant wake up," he said and left off teasing my nipple. He moved at Seeker speed between my legs and before my addled senses could catch up to his intention, Harry Potter had taken my cock into his mouth._

_"Ungh!" I said intelligently._

_His answering hum vibrated through my cock like an electrical charge and my hands sank into his hair. I could not have pulled him away if my life had depended upon it._

_He sucked cock like a dynamo, taking it as deeply as possible, and using his tongue like a magical device. Only the occasional scraping of his teeth kept me from seething with jealously, wondering from whom he had learnt such tricks. Eagerness and enthusiasm, I reasoned hopefully, rather than experience._

_Potter did not even pull away when I came, despite my hands finally urging him to pull off. Instead, he swallowed, although he choked once and spilled a bit down the side of his chin. _Not experienced, thank god_, I thought._

_I might have congratulated myself on my bizarre good luck if my mother hadn't chosen that moment to waltz into my bedchamber._

**Day Four**

I jolted awake, half-hard and aching at the memory of my first night with Harry. The amazement I had felt at his actions had stayed with me for weeks, or possibly it had never really gone away. I never understood why he wanted me. He could have had anyone; why settle for a former Death Eater and societal pariah?

I debated wanking, but the mood had faded, replaced with the hollow emptiness of days past. I threw back the blankets and sat up with an oath.

Was my life over? Did I plan to lie around and mope for the rest of eternity? Did I intend to let the press believe I was nothing without the Saviour?

"Hell, no," I muttered to myself, despite the fact that I only half-believed it myself.

Determined to do something, anything at all, I showered, dressed, and sent Pansy an owl. She would be miffed and reparations would likely cost me a small fortune in order to return to her good side, but I was an expert at wheedling back into her good graces.

Rather than attempt breakfast (and risk another run-in with the Daily Prophet), I Flooed to Malfoy Manor. Mother was in the solar with a skein of fabric on her lap and a bit of metal in her hand. Aunt Andromeda had taught her a ridiculous skill—embroidery, the Muggle way. Mother said it was more satisfying than doing it with magic, and it was relaxing.

A house-elf brought me breakfast and I drank strong tea and nibbled at sausages whilst Mother and I discussed the minutia of societal gossip. Pansy kept me well-supplied with the shortcomings of our peers, but at the moment my heart wasn't in it.

After a long silence, Mother asked, "Is it true?"

"It's true." I shrugged and traced a decorative whorl on the edge of my teacup. "It wasn't meant to be."

"Why?" she asked, surprising me. I suppose I had expected her to agree.

I thought about it and withheld the usual pat responses. The Saviour and the Death-Eater, the paragon of virtue and the scion of wickedness, the yin and yang of light and darkness that had always marked my interactions with Harry. Telling my mother I was not good enough would be foolish; her opinion of my worth had always surpassed that of others, even my own.

"Perhaps I did not try hard enough."

"Strange," she said. The needle began to move again, punching through the fabric and out again. Colourful string slackened and drew taut, over and over.

"Why is that strange?" I asked finally.

"He seemed important enough to you." The needle flashed. The string stretched and relaxed, stretched and relaxed. "But apparently not."

I looked away and sipped at my cooling tea. It soured in my stomach like acid.

oooooo

Pansy's glare could have melted a new cauldron.

"Three days," she said. I half-expected ice shards to shoot from her lips and spear my chest. "_Three days_ I have been worried sick about you."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I could not reach you by Floo, you ignored my owls, and Salazar knows I can't get through Saint Potter's wards. Those certainly haven't been dismantled, despite the fact that he's apparently run back to—"

"Don't," I said warningly. "I said I was sorry. I just needed some time to think. I am going to make it up to you. First with dinner."

Her glare did not relent. "First with a new bracelet. And a hat. And then dinner. After that we shall see."

I suppressed a wince. Shopping with her was genuine torture, even for me. I enjoyed shopping, but not with the woman who had been known to spend six hours choosing a single Eyelash Enhancement Elixir.

"Fine," I gritted, knowing I had little choice unless I wanted her to give me the cold shoulder for a week and then demand ever more.

"And dessert. And then a drink with Blaise."

"Pansy…"

"He misses you, too! It's not our fault you decided to sulk alone rather than letting us help you with your broken heart."

"I do not have a broken heart!" I snapped.

"Oh really? So you've been singing songs and polishing your wand alone in your flat for the past three days, then?"

"Shut up," I muttered. "Let's get this bloody shopping done so I can get on with my life."

ooooo

By the third shop I was considering ritual suicide.

"Aren't these darling?" she cooed and hefted a pair of pumps adorned with fluttering blue butterflies. "Do they come in green?"

The clerk waved her wand and the shoe immediately turned green. The butterflies fluttered madly.

"They don't seem to like that," Pansy commented, but sat down and stuffed her feet into them, regardless. "What do you think, Draco?"

"Brilliant," I said, trying to disguise the sheer depth of my boredom.

She stood up and clopped a few paces before turning and clopping back. The butterflies whizzed around her ankles and landed back upon the shoes when she stopped. Pansy frowned at them. "I can't decide. These or the ones with the ivy?"

Personally, I thought the current nature fashion trend to be grotesque, but I bit my tongue. "Get them both. You'll whinge about whatever pair you don't buy."

"You are not being helpful."

"I am not here to be helpful, I am here to purchase you a ridiculous number of things so that you will not—" I cut off _act like a complete twat_ in the nick of time.

"I will not _what_, Draco?" she asked in a lethal tone.

"You will not keep me here all day. Can we please get some sustenance before I perish of hunger?"

"Fine," she snapped. "Since you're buying." She handed a box to the clerk and stepped out of the butterfly shoes. "I will take them both. Pay the man, darling."

I paid, wincing at the total, and then followed Pansy outside. I nearly ran her down when she stopped abruptly. "Damn it, Pans!"

"Salazar, Draco, I just remembered! The _ring_!" She giggled wickedly and her laugh caught my attention, despite my annoyance.

"Ring?"

"Merlin, yes, it's a complete atrocity. The woman has no taste at all. You have to see it. Also, I need to pop into Malkin's for a fitting."

I groaned. "Bloody hell, not a _fitting_."

"Don't give me that look. It's the third one, so it won't be but a moment. However, you must see this wretched ring, first."

I rolled my eyes, but allowed her to link our hands and drag me down the Alley. I had nearly forgotten the upcoming nuptials of Blaise's mother. The woman had been married so many times it was rumoured the _Prophet_ kept a permanent place setting for her announcements. Her taste was truly horrific; it was a wonder Blaise had developed any sense of style at all. I preferred to take credit for that.

We halted in front of Twinkel's Fine Jewellery and Accessories. Pansy scanned the display beyond the window pane and then pointed with a pinkie. "There! The pink one, but in yellow diamonds. Can you imagine that thing in yellow?" She shuddered delicately.

The ring could have defined gaudy. It was a lump of solid platinum adorned with no fewer than eight emerald-cut pink stones bordered with a cluster of smaller cabochons. The thought of it in yellow was nauseating.

"Why?" I asked, horrified. My gaze drifted away from the pink and platinum monstrosity and locked on a simple band of bright gold, set with a single, square-cut emerald nearly the exact colour of Harry's eyes. I put my hand on the window sill and saw my fingertips turn white.

Pansy shook her head. "There is no explanation for that, Draco. Come along. Robe fitting and then I will allow you to take me to dinner."

I sighed and forced my fingers to relax. "For every minute over fifteen I am deducting a Sickle from your dessert budget."

She huffed and dragged me away.

ooOOooOOoo

_Mother backed out of my room with a startled squeak and shut the door._

_Green eyes met mine, wide and surprised. His lips, red and slick from attending my cock, quirked into a grin. "Well. Should I be consider myself lucky to still be in possession of my bollocks?"_

_I had no idea what to say. My mother had caught me with Harry Potter in my bed. Having sex. I wondered how unethical it would be to Obliviate her. She might thank me for it._

_A house-elf popped up next to the bed, nearly startling me out of my skin. I wondered how many more shocks my heart could take if the day progressed as it had been._

_"Mistress Narcissa is requesting the presence of Master Draco at breakfast. She is also asking that Mister Harry Potter is to be attending."_

_I groaned and covered my eyes with an arm. A Time-Turner. I needed a Time-Turner to go back to the damned party and avoid Potter altogether._

_The thought was entertaining until Potter moved, gliding upwards over my skin and pressing a kiss against my abdomen, just above my navel. "Will she poison me, do you think?"_

_"I don't know," I replied._

_Potter hummed. "Better make it worth dying for, just in case" he said and kissed me._

_I tried to protest—I did! But Potter's mouth was insistent and eager and I nearly succumbed to the idea of dragging him under the blankets and going to sleep. Nearly, because nothing good would come of ignoring Mother's summons._

_I snared a fistful of Potter's thick hair and yanked him away from my lips. He pouted._

_"It's a spell, right? Someone hexed you last night and I'm going to be hunted down and destroyed by your slavering fans for…"_

_Potter quirked a brow. "For letting me suck you off?"_

_I blushed. Damn if his flippant tone wasn't a turn-on. I shoved him aside and swung my feet out of bed. "Mother will not take kindly to delays." I tugged my pants back into place, blushing deeper when Potter's eyes fixed on my crotch. "You can Apparate home, if you like. It isn't as though she can do anything to you."_

_Potter got to his feet. I wondered where his clothing had gone; I distinctly remembered him climbing into my bed fully clothed. I could not keep myself from staring at him. His body was a thing of beauty I would never have imagined, hidden as it normally was beneath shapeless Muggle-wear or voluminous robes. His pants—black, I noticed—were looped around one ankle._

_I admired the curve of his ribs, the jut of his hip, and the long, slender perfection of his legs as he bent to retrieve his pants, stepping into the other hole with his foot. He pulled them up his legs and into place around his tight arse. My eyes snapped upwards when he finished straightening and shook his head. "No. We are in this together."_

_I frowned, having no idea what the "this" we were in together was, but the sight of him naked was making it impossible to think coherently. "I'm going to have a quick shower. A very quick shower." I strode towards the bathroom and noticed Potter's clothing folded with house-elf neatness upon my dressing table. "Your clothes are there, Potter."_

_"Thanks!" he called as the door slammed behind me. Moments later I stood beneath the hot spray and tried not to think of Potter's mouth upon my cock. Thankfully, the memory of Mother's shocked face banished all lascivious thoughts and sped my ablutions. I admitted to myself that it had definitely been worth whatever punishment Mother chose to dole out._

_When I left the shower, Potter was stood at my window, looking out over the grounds. He turned to watch me as I crossed the room to my wardrobe. My fingers tightened in the towel at my waist. I could feel myself blushing as if the warmth of his gaze heated my skin._

_If he was not drunk, nor under a spell, then why…? I glanced at him and lifted a brow. "Do you mind?"_

_"Certainly not," he said and grinned._

_I rolled my eyes, but the fact that he refused to turn around was a bit titillating. It was even more so when I dropped the towel and stepped into a pair of white silk underpants, knowing his eyes were still on me. "Are you going to shower?" I asked and lifted a shirt from the floating holder._

_"No. I cast a few Cleaning Charms. Stung a bit, but should tide me over until I can go home and change. Thank your house-elves for cleaning my robes for me, yeah?"_

_I made a noncommittal sound and pulled on the shirt. I was about to fasten the buttons when Potter's hands were suddenly there, brushing my fingers aside._

_"Let me," he offered._

_"Why are you doing this, Potter?" I asked._

_He smiled and his verdant eyes seemed to sparkle. "I might not get another chance."_

_He had a point, since Mother might have us both poisoned at breakfast. I stood without moving and allowed him to button my shirt. It was domestic and… nice. Especially when he leaned in for a kiss when his fingers fastened the last button. I allowed that, as well, but refused to kiss back. It would be foolish to encourage him._

_I gripped his shoulders and moved him forcibly aside. My trousers and a semi-formal robe finished off my wardrobe, plus soft black slippers to tuck my feet into. Potter managed to make his formal robes from the prior day look casual and sexy without even trying._

_"Those are meant to be buttoned," I commented and started for the door._

_"They were buttoned yesterday. I'm no longer at a wedding, so I refuse to truss up like a Christmas goose. And I can't breathe with them choking me."_

_"All right, Potter," I said and was surprised to find myself smiling._

_I led the way to the dining room and the great unknown._

_~TBC~  
_


	4. Chapter 4

**Day Five**

Despite Pansy's insistence, I had refused to meet with Blaise for a drink after the shopping excursion. I was exhausted and bored, and well aware that a single drink with the two of them would turn into a dozen more. I was far too maudlin to risk alcohol loosening my lips and spilling forth truths I was barely willing to acknowledge myself.

Such as the fact that I missed Harry. I missed him more than I ever thought I would. I had complained about his dirty socks between the sofa cushions. I had railed at his inability to keep globs of toothpaste from hardening in the sink. I had muttered unkind words at Harry's habit of leaving half-finished glasses of butterbeer all over the flat. Now I missed every one of those annoying habits. I would put up with a dozen glasses of butterbeer on the mantle just to have Harry look at me with his green eyes going soft and dark, to have him carefully pull off his glasses and set them aside before pushing me back against the cushions and pressing his hot mouth against mine.

My mother's words returned to haunt me. "He seemed important enough to you. But apparently not." _Apparently not_.

I sat down at the desk and dipped the quill into the ink. I watched a fat drop form and slowly fall back into the bottle. I touched the quill to the parchment and it caught on an imperfection in the paper, causing an irregular blot where the H began.

**_Harry,_**

**_Please_**

I dropped the quill, not knowing what to say beyond that. He would likely not read it, anyway. Four days with no contact, and the papers crowing over his return to Ginny Weasley.

I took off my clothes with the future yawning bleakly before me. What the fuck did I plan to do with my life? Had I even thought past the inevitable moment when he would leave me?

I climbed into my empty bed and curled around a pillow. Sleep was a long time coming.

ooooo

Mornings were evil, even if they began closer to noon. Despite my depressed outlook, I decided it was time to stop feeling sorry for myself and actually work on getting the prat back. Unless he ran off and married the ginger bint (_Salazar, please no_), then there was still a chance. I only had to prove myself worthy, something that, at the moment, I definitely was not.

I tried once more to send a message, asking him to meet with me or at least write back to me or _something_. Titan returned with no reply.

I dressed with care, forced down a breakfast (lunch?) of hot porridge and toast, ignored the newspaper on the table (having no desire to see more photos of the "happy couple"), and Apparated to St Mungo's.

An hour later, having trekked from one end of the hospital to the other, multiple times, in search of the correct documentation, signatures, possibly-intentional misinformation, and clamping my jaw shut to hold back sarcastic retorts and lethal hexes, I was stood before the desk of a grizzled-looking woman who would not have looked out of place leading a charge of soldiers up a hillside during the Second Romanian Giant Wars. (Yes, I had sometimes paid attention during History of Magic.)

She glared from the sheaf of papers to me and back again. Her stout fingers flipped through the first three documents, slowly, as though evaluating every word.

"Malfoy," she said as she peeled back another page. "Bit of an infamous name, that."

"Yes," I replied simply, although I wondered. Infamous because of the war, or because of Harry Potter?

"You want to be an intern."

"Yes," I repeated.

"Why?"

I had prepared for that question, at least. "I want to prove myself. I want to show everyone that the Malfoy name is not… what it was." Bizarrely, it was also the truth. "I want to do something worthwhile."

"And how does your relationship with Harry Potter come into this equation?"

I straightened with a glare. "That is a very personal question."

"I take a personal interest in all of my staff members, Mr Malfoy. If this is some sort of publicity stunt, I refuse to be a part of it. I have more serious applicants to consider."

"I no longer have a relationship with Harry Potter," I admitted, ignoring the stab of pain that came from saying it aloud. "And even if I did, it would have no bearing on my decision. I have considered it for quite some time and feel it prudent to wait no longer."

"And you have a bit of extra time on your hands?"

My jaw worked. She reminded me of Minerva McGonagall, but blunter, although I would scarcely have believed it possible. Her hair was steel-coloured and her eyes the coldest shade of blue I had ever seen. "Yes," I snapped.

"What happens when your social life recovers, Mr Malfoy? You are well-known to be a… how shall I put this? A socialite. What will you do if your famous paramour chooses to re-establish your relationship and you find this is no longer what you want? We work long, hard hours here."

"This is not about Harry." My first lie. I ploughed on, lest she call me on it. "And I am not afraid of hard work."

"I accept no weaklings, Mr Malfoy. Have you any experience at all with the concept of work? A spoiled pure-blood playboy such as yourself?"

My fingers clenched on the arms of the chair. I had known it was going to be difficult, maybe even impossible, but I had not expected such obvious disdain from the hospital director. Veiled contempt and snide insults, yes, but her blatant scorn took me by surprise. My naiveté at not preparing for it left me shaking.

"During my sixth year at Hogwarts I was set to a task I thought would be impossible. I worked at it day and night. I kept on when I knew it was hopeless, and I kept on when my body threatened to fail me and my fingers bled. I might have been a spoiled child before that year, but by the end I had left childhood far behind. And even though the results turned out to be nothing I would have chosen, the fact remains that _I did what needed to be done_."

Her pale eyes seemed to bore into me, stripping away any façade I might have hid behind. I met her stare for stare until I could take it no more, and then I fixed my gaze on the window beyond her shoulder. Real, I noted dimly, and in need of a wash to scrub away the water-hardened runnels and spots left by rainwater.

To my surprise, a smile curved her lips. "Well, well," she said, "a man does lurk beneath that posh exterior. Good to know. You will start tomorrow. I am assigning you to Healer Twist. Report to Spell Damage, Floor Four, at nine-o-clock tomorrow morning. Do not be late. You will not be paid for the first two weeks, at the end of which I will evaluate your progress, or lack thereof. Should you choose to terminate your employment prior to that time, a simple owl will suffice."

My fingers unclenched and I stared at her in surprise. I had been convinced she planned to boot me out on my arse. "Th—Thank you, Administrator Mordant."

She got to her feet and jutted out a stiff hand. I rose and took it, nearly wincing as she pumped it with a snap that nearly dislocated my shoulder.

"Let's see what you're made of, Mr Malfoy."

I nodded and let myself out.

ooooo

I stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the ground floor, still baffled by Mordant's acceptance. I was not certain if I felt lucky or cursed.

The doors opened and two healers dressed in lime green entered.

"…back again, the poor dear," one was saying.

"They ought to call it the Harry Potter ward as often as he's here," the second replied with a chuckle. I pushed past them—earning a gasp and a barely-noticed reprimand for rudeness—to catch the doors before they closed completely. I shoved them open and hurried away from the lift to a familiar station. Spell Damage, the same floor I was to report to in the morning.

"Draco, dear! My, you got word early this time. Harry was just brought in. He is in Seventeen." The matronly healer behind the desk gestured towards a long hallway and then turned her attention to a man whose left arm was long, sinuous, and covered in suction cups. It was also bright blue. "Again, Mr Baycastle?"

I paused a moment, uncertain. Had she not heard that I and Harry were no longer together? Did she not read the _Prophet_? The fact that Harry might be gravely injured drove me down the hallway at a quick walk.

I pushed open the door to room Seventeen and nearly sagged in relief when Harry's bright green eyes fixed on me the moment I walked in. Not unconscious, then. It should not be life-threatening.

Harry's eyes widened, but whatever he was about to say came out as a yelp when the healer on the other side of his bed yanked hard at a… feather? It had been imbedded in Harry's left shoulder, along with several others that Draco could see.

"Sorry," said the healer. "Quicker to pluck them out."

"It hurts!" Harry said.

Harry's entire left side looked as if it had sprouted feathers. I would normally have laughed and called him an idiot for getting in the way of a_Surculapluma_, but I doubted it would be well-received. And, as always, the sight of him lying in a hospital bed did terrible things to my midsection, making it difficult to breathe. This time it was a simple Quill-Sprouting Spell. What if next time it was a Severing Charm? Or_Avada Kedavra_?

He glared at me and then winced as another feather was yanked out.

"Can't you at least cast a Numbing Charm?" I demanded.

The healer turned a wry look upon me and then rolled his eyes. "'Cast a Numbing Charm,' says _Healer_ Malfoy. What say you, Auror Potter?"

"No," Harry said without looking at me. "They put me to sleep and I have to get back."

I felt my jaw clench. He had to get back. Of course he did. Harry would reside in the fucking Auror Department if he could, living and breathing his job. Perhaps he was living there now, since he had left me. Unless he had moved in with—

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked. His tone was scathing. "Shouldn't you be with your fiancée?"

For a moment, I thought Harry was talking to Healer Flotsam, but then he arched a brow and I realized he was speaking to me. "What?" I countered intelligently.

The door opened and someone rushed past me to fling themselves upon Harry's bed. "Oh Godric, my poor Harry, are you all right? I came as soon as I heard!"

I stepped back, edging towards the door. The sight of Ginny Weasley sprawled half over Harry and cooing at him like a child crooning at her doll frankly turned my stomach. A wave of possessive rage threatened to overwhelm me. _Mine_, I thought through a sudden pounding in my ears, _he's mine_.

And then my own words returned to haunt me, recalled at the worst possible time. _Get the fuck out for good_, I had said. And he had.

Harry gripped her arms and forced her back. He stared into her face and I closed my eyes. If they kissed, it would certainly kill me. Or I might kill her.

I turned and fled, not stopping until I was safely in the lift with the doors shut behind me.

I was certain it was wishful thinking that Harry had called my name.

I shut my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall of the lift. I needed a drink. Or twenty.

ooOOooOOoo

_"Good morning, Draco. Mr Potter," my mother said pleasantly as she stirred her tea with a petite silver spoon._

_"Mother," I replied warily and sat down. Potter dropped into the chair next to mine, directly across from my mother. Their eyes met and locked, as if issuing and accepting a challenge. I reached for the tea and then realized I probably would not be able to hold the teapot without my hands shaking, so I changed trajectory and picked up a piece of toast from the tray._

_"Good morning, Mrs Malfoy," said Potter. "Look, I just want to say—"_

_"Did you enjoy the wedding?" she asked and placed her spoon on the saucer._

_"Um. Very much. It was lovely." Potter poured a cup of tea. His hands were steady, the bastard._

_"Indeed. Valenciana designed such a lovely gown for Andromeda. And the flowers were spectacular." Mother took a sip of her tea._

_Potter seemed confused by Mother's small talk. He glanced at me and made a motion towards my teacup with the pot. I nodded and felt a spot of gratitude when he poured and then replaced the silver teapot on the tray._

_"About this morning—" Potter said, trying again. Intrepid, he was._

_"Although I still think violet would have been a better choice than lilac. I am certain she remained adamant on that front only to annoy me." Mother seemed lost in her reflections and Potter glanced at me as I stirred a large spoonful of sugar into my tea._

_"I… the flowers looked fine to me," Potter replied._

_I drank my tea. It was slightly too hot and burned the roof of my mouth._

_"The cake was lovely, although the canapés left much to be desired. The caviar was substandard and I will definitely have words with Mr March-Stanley regarding that, to be certain."_

_Potter scowled and I almost pitied him. I held my toast in one hand and began to spread marmalade with the other, holding the knife tightly. It did not tremble in my grip, thank Salazar._

_Potter lifted the teacup to his lips._

_"My son is not a plaything, Mr Potter," my mother said._

_I had been expecting her to fling the gauntlet, so I did not drop the knife onto the table, but my hand twitched and a bit of marmalade glopped onto my thumb. Potter, however, was taken by surprise and nearly choked on his tea. His saucer accepted the cup with a clatter and I thought about patting Potter on the back to relieve his coughing spasms._

_"That's not—!" He wheezed._

_"I realize you are both young and imbibed freely of the alcohol last night, which often leads to impulsive behaviour and bad decision-making," she stared at me for a moment, "but I must insist that—"_

_"That's not how it is!" Potter interrupted, finally catching his wind._

_"Then how is it, Mr Potter?" she asked in the voice she usually reserved for the times I had done something foolish, such as smashing the picture frame of my Great-Great Uncle Eridanus (twice removed) whilst flying my broom in the east wing._

_"It's… I would very much like to see Draco again," Potter announced and then blinked at me as if surprised by his own words. Quite possibly, I looked just as surprised staring back at him. He straightened and then turned his gaze on Mother. "Very much," he repeated in a determined tone. It changed again, shifting into something not-quite-dangerous, but skirting close enough to it that it gave me a strange thrill. "Do you have a problem with that?"_

_My mother met him stare for stare and I could feel the tension mounting. I glanced at the sideboard and wondered when the china would begin to shatter, as it had on one occasion when she had been livid with Father._

_She looked away first and picked up her teacup. "That depends, Mr Potter, on your intentions."_

_"My intentions are honourable!" Potter said._

_I nearly snorted and buried my nose in my cup to hide it. I was quite certain that Potter always considered his intentions to be honourable. To think otherwise would be anti-Gryffindor._

_A second stare-down ensued and I began to wonder if they held a silent mental battle, Occlumency against Legilimency. The fact that they were fighting over me made me fidget. I risked a bite of toast, chewed, and swallowed, then washed it down with a gulp of tea._

_Mother broke their impasse first, looking away and lifting her teacup. "Draco is old enough to make his own decisions, Mr Potter. I will not stand in the way of his choices, even if I believe they might bring him harm. I cannot, of course, speak for Lucius. He chooses to believe that Draco will uphold centuries of tradition, marry a suitable girl, and beget children to carry on the family name. I prefer to see that Draco is happy." She glanced at me and I saw a hint of amusement in the depths of her eyes. "I have known for quite some time that Draco will never be satisfied with that sort of arrangement, at least as far as the female component is involved."_

_"I am right here, Mother," I said dryly, although I looked away, vaguely uncomfortable. It was one thing to suspect your mother knew about your sexual preferences, but quite another to have it spelled out over the dining table, especially taking into consideration the scene she had witnessed. "How did you know?"_

_"You are not always subtle, Draco. I believe you were quite taken with the clerk at Hamblin's until he married that girl."_

_I blushed. The man had been ridiculously good-looking, and a flirt, as well. I had entertained many a wank fantasy featuring him, until he had gone the way of a good heterosexual and settled down. Such a pity._

_I glanced at Potter. The clerk had possessed a messy thatch of black hair, now that I thought back upon it._

_"The final decision is Draco's, of course," Mother added. Her tone carried a subtle edge. Of warning?_

_"Well, Draco, what will it be?" Potter asked with a hopeful expression. "Are you willing to be seen with me in public?"_

_For a moment I wondered if it was all a strange joke perpetuated by Potter and his friends, possibly concocted by the remaining Weasley twin at his joke shop. I should be the one asking if Potter was willing to be seen with me. He was the darling of the wizarding world and I was a pariah. My parents had become near-recluses after the war, hiding in the Manor under the guise of renovations. I, however, had refused to hide. Pansy, Blaise and I regularly frequented the clubs and watering holes of London and the surrounding environs, earning a reputation for loose coin and looser morals, neither of which would reflect well upon the Chosen One._

_"Strange you should ask me that question, Potter. I will have to give the matter some consideration. How do you plan to explain this to your friends?" Not to mention that fact that my own friends would be flabbergasted. And probably mortified. And then laugh their arses off for a month._

_"They'll come around."_

_"But why?" I had to ask. Despite Potter's evident drunken (and non-drunken) attraction to me, it made no sense._

_He grinned loopily. "I like you."_

_I glared at him. Honestly, it was the most ridiculous thing he could have said. And thereafter, I could never get a different answer out of him._

ooOOooOOoo

"Where have you been this time?" Pansy asked, waltzing into the kitchen unannounced. I had left the Floo open to her, lest I be forced into another shopping expedition.

I was sat at the table, morosely nursing a cup of tea. She banged about through the cabinets, opening containers and muttering under her breath.

"I've been out," I said evasively.

"Where is your bloody coffee?" she asked. "You always have coffee."

I blanched. "The coffee was Harry's. He took it with him when he…"

"Oh," she said simply. "I suppose I'll have tea, then."

Harry had acquired a taste for coffee whilst working long hours at the Ministry. Pansy had picked up the habit by drinking Harry's coffee when he was not around.

"Well," she said and reheated the water in the kettle with a flick of her wand, "I'm thinking about going to see Queenie's father. Bloody bastards should not be able to get away with such slander."

I stopped contemplating my tea and glanced at her. She had located a large mug that read **World's Best Lover**. Harry had bought it for me at a craft fair we had stumbled upon whilst seeking a place to have lunch. I felt a pang, seeing it. Did everything have to remind me of him?

"Queenie's father slandered someone?"

"I might keep this one," she mumbled, still looking at the mug, "since it's true." She set it on the counter and poured water in before sending me a look. "No, you berk. Queenie's father is a barrister, if you'll recall. The bloody _Prophet_ is the slanderer."

"Well, what's new about that?" I rolled my eyes.

She dropped in a teabag and made her way to the table. "You're taking this remarkably calmly," she said. "I thought you would be as upset as I am. Unless you don't plan to refute it." She smirked at that and sat down.

"What are you talking about?"

"Honestly, Draco, haven't you read the paper today?"

I looked over at the _Daily Prophet_, still folded on the edge of the table where I had left it this morning, unread. I spelled it over and snatched it open.

She slurped at her tea without bothering to remove the bag. Uncouth bint.

I found it on page three. It was a photo of Pansy and me looking at the ghastly ring the previous day. Photo-Pansy leaned her head against my shoulder and heaved a dreamy sigh. We looked for all the world like a couple shopping for an engagement ring, something the wretched reporter had leaped upon. **Are Wedding Bells Far Behind?** the title blared.

_"The jilted lover of the Man-Who-Lived was seen in the company of his former girlfriend yesterday, happily browsing the engagement ring collection at Twinkel's and then disappearing into Twilfit and Tattings, a known purveyor of fine robes and wedding accoutrements. Speculation about the couple's apparent reunion lead some to believe Draco Malfoy's breakup with Harry Potter was prompted by indiscretion. When questioned, one of Potter's close friends admitted, 'Yeah, I could see him cheating on Harry. He never seemed that invested in the relationship. All he did was party. With Parkinson and that Zabini, now that I think about it.'" _My fingers crinkled the edges of the paper with the force of my grip. _Weasley_. I snarled and steeled myself to read on._ "Sources close to Lucius Malfoy tell us that he is ecstatic over the news. It is rumoured he hopes to soon hear the laughter of children brightening the halls of Malfoy Manor. Has the playboy finally settled down? Will he become the proper pure-blood heir now that he has sowed his wild oats? Only time will tell."_

I crushed the paper in my fists. "_Indiscretion_?" I shouted. "'Sources close to Lucius Malfoy?' There are no sources close to my father! This is the worst drivel I have ever read! The only bloody 'children's laughter' that will brighten the halls of the Manor will be over my dead body!" I fairly gnashed my teeth in rage and considered smashing my teacup against the wall. Or better yet, the one Pansy held. **World's Best Lover**. If I had been the world's best lover, he would never have left me.

I sat down heavily. Harry's words at St Mungo's suddenly made sense. _Shouldn't you be with your fiancée?_ Oh god, he had read the paper and thought Pansy and I… He had seen the photos.

I laughed. It was not a pleasant sound and Pansy set her mug down to watch me with a wary expression.

"It's really over," I said in a harsh whisper. To my horror I felt my eyes sting and everything blurred. I stared hard at the mangled newsprint. I would not fucking break down.

Pansy was on me in a moment, holding me tightly and murmuring sympathetic words that meant nothing; she had to be thrilled that Harry and I were finished. I knew she was secretly gloating.

I pushed away from her faux sympathy. "Call Blaise," I said. "We're going out tonight."

~TBC~


	5. Chapter 5

The third club we entered was crowded, wall-to-wall bodies gyrating beneath floating orbs of light. The music was so loud it was nearly visible.

I had been drunk before we reached the second club and now I was working my way back to sobriety, nursing a glass of lukewarm water. I needed to decide whether to return to a hazy state of drunkenness or crawl into depressed sobriety.

Pansy and Blaise had already abandoned me for the dance floor; they had trapped a young wizard and were taking turns snogging him whilst grinding against him. The poor lad was doomed; he would be lucky if he could walk tomorrow.

I scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces, and then I saw him. The alcohol in my belly seemed to turn to acid when I saw who he was dancing with. Of course he was here with her. They were an item again, were they not? The Golden Couple, reunited. It was my typical bad luck that he would turn up at the same club. He was not much of a partier, or at least he hadn't been when we were together.

"Merlin's Madness," I ordered, turning to the bartender. "Make it two."

The aged barkeep peered at me. "I'm only allowed to sell one at a time and make sure you don't die between."

"Fine. One now and one if I _don't die_," I snapped.

He poured the concoction, a lethal-looking mixture of alcohols and inebriation-inducing potions. He slid it across the counter and I took a sip. It burned like live flame and I was not certain I'd be able to taste anything for the next week. The heat travelled down my oesophagus and added white-hot flame to the seething ball of jealousy in my gut.

"Firewhiskey and a champagne cocktail," I heard.

I turned to find Potter two patrons away, sweat-gleaming and looking far too fit and happy. Something snapped and I pushed my way over to him. I gripped his arm and leaned close.

"We need to talk," I said.

He stiffened, but did not turn his head to face me. "I don't have anything to say to you," he said.

"Well, I have things to say to you."

He sighed heavily. "Fine. I'll give you five minutes." He looked at me then and his eyes were too dark in the dim light to pick out the green.

"Not here," I said. "Come on." I moved through the crowd and headed for the back door, not completely certain he would follow. I reached the rear exit and pushed through. The alley was sparsely populated due to the fitful rain. One diehard smoker stood against the far wall, puffing on a Muggle cigarette. Muggleborns frequently took up the habit; I could never fathom the attraction.

To my relief, Harry walked behind me. I strode down the alley a short distance and found a convenient recessed doorway, sheltered from the rain and invisible from anyone exiting the club.

Harry stepped into the alcove and crossed his arms in the universal gesture of "keep away". He waited.

So many words had filled my head in the past few days, scenarios I had played out in my head, from angry tirades to pleading, desperate begging. None of them came to mind now, with him staring at me so coldly, as though we had been nothing, as though _I_ were nothing. He hadn't looked at me like that in a long, long while. And I had caused its return.

"Harry," I said, trying to express the depths of my feelings, but I had never been good at expressing anything but anger. At a loss, I took refuge in the physical. Two steps took me to him and my lips met his, gently at first, terrified of rejection, but he only sighed against my mouth and accepted the kiss, not quite returning it, but not shoving me away, either.

Emboldened, I kicked his legs apart and stepped between them, resting myself against his crotch as was my usual wont, something I knew he loved. His arms uncrossed and I felt his hands rest upon my hipbones. I pressed myself to him more firmly and snogged him for all I was worth, trying to speak without words. A flick of my tongue meant _I'm sorry_, my teeth against his lower lip said_ I've missed you_, and the desperate pull of my lips on his meant _Please come home_.

He was hard in moments, grinding my erection against his by a fierce grip on my hips. His panting gasps echoed mine and a whimper tore from his throat. It was clear he had missed this as much as I had. If nothing else, I knew the Weaselette could never get to him the way I could. This was my power and I would never let it go.

Heady with success, I gasped for breath and peppered kisses along his jaw, more drunk from two minutes of kissing him than by anything I had consumed. _Harry_, I thought. _My Harry._

His hands left my hips and latched onto my shoulders. I fumbled for my wand, desperate to Apparate us away, to take us home, but he pushed, shoving me away with an oath. I stared at him from a distance that suddenly seemed far wider than the arm's length that separated us.

He shook his head. "Physical attraction was never our problem, Draco." His voice sounded sad and weary and _pitying_. It hit me like a physical blow.

Down the alley-way, a door banged open. "_Harry_? Are you out here?" Ginny Weasley's voice was unmistakable and I could not bear to see her face. Not now. Not with everything I'd lost close enough to touch.

I swore savagely and Disapparated.

ooOOooOOoo

_"Isn't it lovely?" he asked. "Look at these windows! So much light."_

_"The flat is admirable, Potter, but why are you showing it to me?"_

_"You really like it? I'm glad because… I want you to move in. Here. With me." He flushed when I stared at him, for once wordless. He struggled on, panic evident in his widening eyes and high-pitched tone. "Grimmauld Place is so gloomy and I'm always terrified of your mum or the bloody house-elves, or worse, your _father_, walking in on us at the Manor, and I wanted you and me and… Us. This."_

_He turned away, tugging at his hair and looking fairly traumatized. I viewed the place through new eyes, flummoxed by his request. Granted, we had been seeing one another for three months, but… it still seemed like a sudden move. It seemed _permanent_ and I had thought what we had was nothing more than temporary. Everyone said so._

_"Say something," he whispered._

_"How am I supposed to sleep until noon with all that bloody light coming through the windows?" I asked._

_He threw himself at me, laughing, and pressed a ridiculous number of kisses to my face. "Heavy curtains," he said. "Slytherin green, if you insist."_

_His happiness was contagious and although my heart pounded with something like dread, I gave in to his joy and tried to shove aside my fears. The press had nearly lost interest in us; this would renew the attack of Howlers and hate mail. And Pansy and Blaise would never let me hear the end of it._

_Still, it would be nice to have a place of our own, and the kitchen was amazing._

_I turned my attention to Harry and we might have christened the place right then, lack of curtains notwithstanding, but the return of the estate agent halted our early celebration._

_"We'll take it," Harry said._

**Day Ten**

I downed a full glass of water and leaned backwards until I felt my spine give with a popping sound. Salazar, I was tired.

"That's not good for your back. You done for the night?"

I turned and gave Tabitha a weary smile. "Almost. I want to check on Bobby Wheelwright in seventeen. I promised to make sure his plush dragon was in bed with him when he fell asleep."

"I knew you'd turn out to be a big softie under all that eye-rollin' and actin' superior," she said and poured herself a cup of coffee that had likely been re-warmed with Heating Charms six or seven times.

"You most certainly did not," I protested.

"Big bad Malfoy, tucking in a little boy's dragon toy. Admit it, you love workin' here." Her smile was as big as her laugh (as big as the rest of her, really) and I felt an answering gesture tugging at my lips.

"Shut up. I hate it here. And I hate you." To give lie to the words, I stuck my tongue out at her. I chuckled as her booming laugh followed me out. I supposed it was all right, working at St Mungo's. I hadn't killed anyone yet, and no one had killed me. The hours were dreadful and the work alternated between times of horrific boredom (during which all things already clean needed to be cleaned again), and vomit-induced periods of panic, rushing about, spell-casting, and high stress.

I had thrown myself into it. No shift was too gruelling for me, no job too dirty, and no petty slur or callous insult would force me to leave. Pansy told me I was mad and Blaise said I was an idiot. I cared nothing for their opinions. The work was hard and exhausting and every time I went home I sprawled on the bed (sometimes fully dressed) and slept like a dead man, without dreams or regrets, and without memories of Harry Potter.

I had only seen Administrator Mordant once, just after midnight two days previous. I had been bodily holding down a raving man whose face was the shape of a huge frying pan, flat and concave. His eyes, squashed and stretched, rolled wildly. His mouth was a huge O that emitted scream after scream as he thrashed and kicked, begging for someone to help him. He'd popped straight onto the floor rather than coming through Admittance, and had set up a hysterical ruckus. I had tackled him to prevent him scaring the other patients.

"Someone get a bloody Stunner or _Incarcerous_ on this nitwit!" I'd yelled, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the jaw.

The man had gone stiff and I'd collapsed in relief before climbing to my feet.

"We do not refer to our patients as 'nitwits', Mr Malfoy," Administrator Mordant had said as she'd put away her wand.

I had flushed and stammered, feeling like a schoolboy being chastised by McGonagall. Then she had leaned close and murmured, "At least, not where they can hear us. Good work, lad." She's straightened. "Put him in Room Six and I'll get Annabelle to tend to him."

She had wended her way down the hallway and I hadn't seen her since, but her accolade had remained with me, spurring me on whenever I'd felt like quitting. I would succeed at this, damn it all, because it was mine and had nothing to do with Harry. Nothing at all.

ooOOooOOoo

_"I spend time with my friends because you are never home!" I shouted. "Why did you even buy this place with me? You should have just moved into your office at the Ministry!"_

_His palm slammed into the bedpost. "Why is everything always my fault? You know why I work so much? It's to help me ignore the fact that you would rather spend time with Pansy and Blaise than with me. We've been growing apart, Draco, can't you see that?"_

_"I always invite you out with us!"_

_"They fucking hate me!" he shouted. "They hate us together and they do everything in their power to drive us apart! And you know what? It's working!"_

_"Oh, is it?" I screamed back. "What about your bloody friends? Have they ever invited me over? They will never accept us being together! Not ever, and you know it, which is why you always keep us apart!"_

_"What do you expect? Ron's brother is permanently scarred because of you and Hermione nearly died at the hands of your mad aunt! Do you think they'll just forget who you are because you're with me? It's not easy for them!"_

_I could scarcely see through the tears of rage that pricked at my eyes. "How can they forget who I am when you keep reminding them? Every time you see me you think 'Death Eater', just like everyone else!"_

_He looked taken aback. "That's not true," he whispered, but it was._

_"Get out," I snarled. "Get the fuck out for good."_

_"Fine. Fuck you, fine, I will."_

**Day Twelve**

"Hey, Softie! Wanna take this Skele-Gro to Room Nine for me? I been needin' to pee for an hour!" Tabitha waved a glass flask at me as she waddled my way with a peculiar gait.

I snorted. "By all means. I certainly don't need to clean up after you _and_ the patients. And stop calling me that!"

She tossed me the potion and giggled. "Any time, lover boy. I'll buy you a pastry later."

I grinned almost fondly and shook my head as I walked to Room Nine. I made a mental note to ask Tabitha later if she had been sorted into Hufflepuff at Hogwarts. She was several years my senior—I might have to remind her of that the next time she called me Softie.

The door was ajar so I pushed it open. Healer Thornton was waving his wand in a diagnostic spell I was itching to learn, his patient partially blocked by the oversized green robes he wore.

"I have the Skele-Gro, Healer Thornton," I said.

Thornton stood. "Thank you, Mr Malfoy. Auror Weasley, you'll need to drink all of this. It tastes vile, I know, but it's the only way to regrow those bones. "You'll be right as rain in the morning."

I had frozen where I stood and it took an impatient gesture from Thornton to get me moving again and hand him the flask.

Ron Weasley lay upon the bed with one arm propped awkwardly on a large pillow. We stared at one another silently and I realized I hadn't spoken a word to him in years, despite my months-long relationship with Harry. About to continue that trend by turning and leaving, my exit was halted by Healer Thornton.

"Mr Malfoy, will you tidy the upper cabinet, there? It looks like the last person using it tossed a Cornish Pixie in afterward. It took me six minutes to locate a Pulse Bracelet. That will need replacing, by the way. I seem to have used the last one. Drink up, Auror Weasley."

I muttered an affirmative response and made my way decisively to the cabinet. It was a mess, with cartons and vials strewn about. It had probably been Healer Moonstone. The man was a walking advertisement for chaos. I sorted quickly, hoping to be finished by the time Healer Thornton left. Behind me, I head Weasley choking and gagging. I smirked.

"Very good. I will see you later, Auror Weasley," I heard and then Thornton was gone.

"Goodnight, Healer," Weasley called and coughed. "Bloody hell, that tastes like… well, I don't know what, but it's bad. Very bad."

I heard him gulping water, which never helped. I bit my lip, torn, and then dug into a pocket of my pale green robe. I tossed a wrapped lozenge onto the bed.

"Breath-freshening Tablet," I said. "It will scour the taste."

Weasley looked at it dubiously, but unwrapped the foil and popped it into his mouth with a Gryffindor level of trust. "Thanks," he muttered.

I shuffled items in the cupboard and made mental notes. The Pain-relieving Potion needed replenishing; I wondered if it was okay to give one to Weasley with the Skele-Gro. I would ask Tabitha. Healers seldom thought about mundane things like pain when concerned with the bigger picture, such as bone-regrowth.

"What happened?" I asked, and then winced. I had no intention of talking to Weasley. Under no circumstances would I mention Harry. I wondered if they had been on an assignment together.

"Bloody domestic dispute. The bloke was a typical bully, but handy with a wand. Couldn't get my shield up fast enough. Kingsley is going to have my arse for it. Probably send me back through Training." Weasley sounded morose. "At least he just hit me with a Bone Begone and not a Severing Spell or something worse. I need to send a note to Hermione, although Jackson promised to let her know."

I made a noncommittal sound of interest and lined up a row of boxes. I wondered if babbling was a side-effect of the Skele-Gro.

"You're working here, then?"

"Intern," I said.

"You like it?"

Babbling and being pleasant, I decided. Interesting side-effects. "I like it well enough. How is Harry?" I slammed the cupboard door and cursed myself. _Fuck_.

"On remote assignment. He's been gone nearly a week."

Oh. Remote assignment. I hated those. Or I _had_ hated those, when we'd been together. Long, lonely nights of tossing in bed, wondering where he was and if he was in danger. I touched the wood of the cabinet and resisted banging my head against it as the familiar pain returned. I had been doing fine at not thinking about Harry. Mostly.

"Harry was pretty upset you never even sent him an owl," Weasley said. "You were that glad he was gone, then? Couldn't wait to be rid of him?"

I turned round to face him. "What are you on about? I sent two messages the first bloody day! One came back and the other had no reply at all, same as the third I sent practically begging him to talk to me. _He_ left _me_, remember?" I glared at him and willed myself to stop talking, but perhaps the air in the room induced babbling. I could not help but add, "And I assumed the photo in the paper of him with your sister was answer enough."

"Did you?" Weasley asked, although he looked thoughtful.

"She made it rather clear when I ran into her in Diagon Alley and they were together that night at the club…" I trailed off, not wanting to remember. "As far as I can tell, they have been together since the moment Harry walked out. Back to being the happy couple, according to the _Prophet_, as though what we had was—" I clamped my jaw shut, unwilling to admit that what we had might have been nothing to Harry. It had not seemed like it at the time. It had seemed like _everything_, even though I had taken it all for granted. And why was I defending myself to Weasley?

"You believe everything in the _Prophet_, then?" Weasley asked. "If that's the case, when are you and Parkinson—?"

"That was a lie and they printed a retraction!" I snapped.

Weasley snorted. "One line buried on page six, according to Hermione."

I gaped at him, astounded that he would know that.

He shrugged and then winced. Apparently his shoulder joint was also missing. That would hurt coming back. "She reads the whole thing, cover to cover, every day. And then rants about it. Keeps me in the know, at least. So, what are you planning to do about Harry?"

"What am I planning to do? He has made it perfectly clear he wants nothing whatsoever to do with me."

"Giving up that easily, then?"

I made a mental note to check on the ingredients in Skele-Gro. Either Weasley had gone mad or I was hallucinating the entire conversation.

"Are you saying you _want_ us to get back together?"

Weasley made a face reminiscent of the one he'd likely made chugging the Skele-Gro. "I admit you've never been my favourite person and you haven't done anything to change my mind recently… But Harry was happy with you. Really happy. I'd never seen him like that before, not ever. And it was nice. Apparently you fucked it up and now he's bloody miserable, despite whatever my sister might have told you. Do you plan to fix it, or not?"

I made my way to the guest chair and sank down into it. "I don't know how," I admitted. "He won't even speak to me."

Weasley nodded. "Yeah, he does that. He did a great job ignoring me during that Tri-Wizard nonsense, and we were roommates. Of course, I was being an arse. Funny how that works. Sort of takes two, doesn't it?"

I nodded politely and waited, unwilling to admit that Weasley had given me something I'd thought was out of my reach.

_Hope_.

"All right, then. Let me think about it and I'll get back to you, Malfoy. Tell me one thing, though. How do you feel about him, really? Was it just a lark to you, like Harry thinks?"

I stayed my tongue on the angry words, knowing it was my fault Harry believed that. "I love him," I admitted, using the words for the first time, despite the number of times they had nearly spilled past my lips during the past few months. I had never told him, thinking it would have made me weak or powerless, somehow.

Weasley settled back into his pillows and closed his eyes. "Yeah. I thought so. Too bad you're such a git."

For some reason the words made me smile. "Fuck you, Weasley."

"Yeah, yeah. Get out now and let me regrow these stupid bones."

I went out, feeling better than I had in days. Because of a Weasley. Would wonders never cease?

**Day Fourteen**

Blaise was in a snit. "I cannot believe the stupid, ridiculous woman has changed the colour scheme again! One week from the bloody wedding! The florist is in a tizzy. She was in tears the last time I saw her. Boris is not helping, acting like my mother's interchanging insanity is adorable. The stupid arse doesn't realize he's going to end up like all of her former husbands."

I listened politely as we walked. I was tired, having worked at the hospital until past midnight the previous night. I hadn't seen Weasley at all since our little chat, and feared that our conversation had been a figment of my imagination. Either that or it had been a cruel joke on Weasley's part.

I was off shift at the hospital for the next two days. Mordant had insisted, saying that otherwise I would burn myself out. Blaise had awakened me at ten a.m. prattling about his mother and then dragging me to Twillfit's to have his wedding robes changed.

"Wouldn't Pansy have been a better choice for this? Why do I have to come along?"

"Stop whinging. You know she hexes anyone that awakens her before noon. Besides, your robes were coordinated to match the yellow, too. Now the colour scheme is coral and you don't want to clash. Honestly, coral. And I thought she couldn't do worse than yellow."

"Yellow is worse than coral," I stated, knowing he was right about the robes. I had chosen a soft amber, which would look heinous against a coral background. I would need something else, possibly burgundy.

"Yeah, maybe," Blaise admitted. He paused when we reached the shop. I made to push open the door, but he grabbed my arm. "Draco."

I frowned at his sober expression. Blaise was seldom serious. I was surprised he was so worked up about his mother's upcoming nuptials; he had been through them enough times in the past that it should have been old hat.

"I was wrong," he said. "About Potter."

I looked around to cover my surprise. We were the only ones on the street but for two elderly gentlemen drinking coffee and reading the newspaper in front of the bakery, sheltered by a striped umbrella. It was a quiet, drizzle-filled morning. I renewed the Umbrella Charm over our heads and gave Blaise an arched eyebrow that meant _Please continue_.

Blaise nodded. "He was good for you. The few times I saw you together, it was obvious. More than obvious, really, that you were both mad for each other. I admit I was jealous. Pansy and I both were. We were arseholes to keep insisting it would never work out, and it was horrible of us to make you doubt yourself, and Potter. I just wanted to… apologize." He scrunched up his nose at the word. It was anathema to Slytherins.

I might have stared at him a bit too long. He glared.

"Anyway. Apparently you're doing a good thing at St Mungo's, according to a friend of my mum's who can't shut up about you. Maybe I'll stop clubbing so much and find a job."

My stare grew even more pointed until he burst out laughing. I joined him. "You prat! You almost had me with the Potter business, but that last thing was just ridiculous."

He smacked me on the arm. "Shut up. I was serious about the Potter thing. But, Salazar, can you see me trying to hold a bloody job? My father, whoever he was, would likely turn over in his grave." He shoved open the door to Twilfit and Tattings.

"We should try to keep the corpse-spinning to a minimum. Let's get this over with so that I can go home and go back to bed."

Blaise waved at the clerk. "Gretchen! What do you have for us?"

"Hello, Mr Zabini. Mr Malfoy. Right this way. I've got you set up with several selections in dressing room One and Mr Malfoy in room Three." She gestured down the wooden hallway and I cocked an eyebrow at Blaise.

"I owled ahead," he said with a smirk. "You don't really think I want to spend all day here, do you?"

"Sometimes you are almost a genius, Blaise."

"I know."

I entered the dressing room to find a rack filled with various robes ranging in colour from bronze to pink. I shook my head. Coral. I unbuttoned my robes and hung them up. A shell pink garment caught my eye and I removed my shirt and draped it over the rack. I reached for the pink shirt as the door opened and someone burst inside with a shouted, "Hey!"

My arms were suddenly full of someone cold and slightly damp and I strove to keep us both from toppling back against the mirror.

"_Harry_?" I asked in surprise as the door slammed shut. I had recognized him more by scent than sight. His hair brushed against my face as he righted himself.

He pushed away from me immediately and turned to wrench at the door, which was, apparently, locked. He banged on it once. "Ron! You arsehole!"

I crossed my arms and waited. After a moment, Harry turned round. His eyes met mine and then skated away.

"Hi," he said. He reached for his fringe and his hand froze partway. He lowered it.

"Hi," I replied.

"I, um." He sighed explosively, gave in, and raked a hand through his hair. "Ron took my wand."

I uncrossed my arms, rifled through my robes, and pulled out my wand. I handed it to him. "In case your need to escape me is great enough for desperate measures," I said.

His eyes narrowed, but he did not take the wand.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said.

"You're sorry?"

"Yeah, I—I've made a bloody mess of things. I wouldn't blame you if you hexed me right now."

I frowned and withdrew my wand, considering it. I kept it in hand, twisting it with a slightly nervous twitch. The dressing closet was not large; it was smaller than the alcove in which I had last seen him. Our toes nearly touched.

"Ginny was intercepting your messages," he blurted. "I never got any of them. Ron got the truth out of her, plus what she told you in Diagon Alley. I… fuck, I should have known you wouldn't just toss me aside like that. I can't believe I was stupid enough to believe… And then the fucking _Prophet_, and thinking you were back with Pansy. God, I'm an idiot."

I tried to piece together his words. He always spoke in jumbled phrases when he was upset, but I had grown familiar with them and could usually translate to human speech. "Are you telling me the Weaselette was stealing my messages to you?"

He nodded. "She knew I was staying with Ron and Hermione and she arranged to be there. To help take my mind off it, she said."

My eyes narrowed and my fingers tightened on my wand. "I'm sure she thought of plenty of ways to take your mind off it."

"It wasn't like that!" Harry said. "There was nothing between us, despite the stupid photos in the paper and whatever she told you. We were out as _friends_. Even that night at the club, we were there with Seamus and Dean and George and Angelina. It was never a date. I never touched her! You have to know there's no one for me but you, Draco."

I bared my teeth in a snarl. "Physical attraction was never our problem," I mimicked, ignoring his words. As much as I was desperate to believe them, I refused to be hurt again.

He winced. "I'm sorry about that, too. You were drunk and I thought you just wanted sex. You didn't _say_ anything, and… God, it was all I could do to push you away. You said you wanted to talk and then you didn't, and I didn't want to fall back into the trap of wanting you if you weren't invested in the relationship the way I was. Am. Fuck, why is this so hard?"

My heart was pounding and the wand dug into my skin. I wanted so much to throw myself at him. "You left me," I whispered.

His hands twisted together. "You told me to. You told me to _get out for good_."

The memory was nauseating. I wanted to go back in time and kick myself. "Since when do you do what I tell you?" I asked, voice breaking.

He launched himself at me, arms clenching so tightly around me that I thought he might break me. I hugged back just as hard, almost unable to process that he was in my arms again. Willingly.

"_God, Draco_. I've missed you so much."

"Harry," I replied on a sigh, and then our mouths were together, sucking and devouring greedily, as though we could put ourselves back together through kissing alone. His hands moved over my bare skin. My fists clenched in his t-shirt and then I pulled him even closer, still not quite able to believe he was real. "You're not… Pansy on Polyjuice, are you?"

He laughed. Salazar, how I had missed that sound. "I hope not. Because if she knows about the time you bound me to the sofa and then_forgot the counter-spell_, I will be very upset with you."

I kissed a path down his neck. "It's really you. Merlin, it's really you. I never thought I'd be allowed to touch you again. I thought I'd lost you forever."

"I thought you didn't really want me," he said. His lips were hot on my cheek and his hands had moved to my hair, which he loved. He had told me enough times.

I pulled back, carefully, so that his hands stayed where they were. As much as he loved touching it, I adored his fingers in it even more. "Never think that," I said, "Not ever. I don't deserve you and I am going to change. I'm working at St Mungo's now and I promise to make you proud of me, instead of some pathetic Death Eater—"

His eyes widened and one of his hands clapped over my mouth. "Don't!" He shook his head. "Don't say that. If there is one lesson I learned from our time apart, it's that you are more than the labels you wear, more than the labels I draped upon you myself. This—" His hand left my mouth and gripped my wrist; he lifted my arm to expose the Dark Mark to the soft lights from above, "is part of you. It's not good or evil, or even a symbol of who or what you are. It's only a mark, Draco, just another scar that shows where you've been. It doesn't define you, no more than my scar defines me. I'm sorry it took me so long to see that."

Harry pressed his lips to the Dark Mark, kissing the hated, ugly lines of it, working his way up until he left it completely and reached the bend of my elbow. I shivered as his tongue flicked over the soft skin there and the mood suddenly changed. Contrition and relief were shifted aside by something more primal.

"Harry," I murmured and sank my fingers into his hair.

His head tipped and his eyes locked with mine. The universe seemed to right itself and I knew he knew what I was thinking. Fuck, it had been a long time. Days and days that had seemed like decades.

He straightened and kissed my neck again, less reverently and more languidly. I felt the fear ebb from my bones, replaced by a long-awaited heat.

"Do you think…?" he asked.

"No! Not here in the shop! Are you crazy?"

His laugh rumbled against my throat, rich and beautiful. "God, I love how prudish you are. The wicked Slytherin, afraid to be caught with his pants down in a public dressing room."

"I am not afraid!" I protested hotly. "It's just not very prudent! What if someone—?"

He chuckled again. "All right. I'll take you home. Give me your wand."

I handed it to him without hesitation. I would never hear the end of it from Blaise if I… Well, I probably wouldn't hear the end of it from Blaise, anyway. And it wasn't until that moment that I realized he had conspired with Weasley to bring Harry and I back together. Would wonders never cease?

I held on tightly as Harry took us home.

**Day Fifteen**

The bedroom was a mess. The bed wasn't made and I had two days' worth of clothing stacked on a chair. In my defence, I hadn't expected Harry to come back, plus I had been busy with work.

Harry didn't seem to notice. He was busy tearing the t-shirt off over his head in between pressing eager kisses to my lips. I decided to further distract him by removing his jeans.

"Missed you so much," he said. "Missed this."

I could not even speak. I had missed him so much I hadn't even wanked. Every thought of touching myself had brought back memories I hadn't been ready to deal with. I walked him backwards to the bed, carefully, because his jeans had pooled around his ankles and his shoes made them impossible to remove. I shoved him backwards and then straddled him as he sprawled upon the bed.

"This bed," I growled. "Never leave it again."

He grinned up at me as I removed his glasses and folded the tines carefully before tossing them on the bedside table. "That might be a bit difficult. Certain things—mmph!" My kiss cut off his words, but he gamely forged on when I came up for air. "…can't be done from the bed."

"Semantics," I said breathlessly, because his hands had found their way beneath my trousers and were touching things that desperately needed touching. I rocked into his fist and closed my eyes at the sensation.

"What about food?" he asked. "And jobs?" He sounded entirely too coherent. I vowed to do something about that. Two thuds announced he'd kicked off his shoes, followed by the whisper of his jeans departing.

"We'll order delivery. Our jobs can hang." I kissed him again, deeply, whimpering when his hands stroked and twisted in that perfect way. His erection was hard against my arse, still trapped in his confining pants. I reached back and tugged at the fabric until his cock sprang free, hot and eager against the crack of my arse. _Oh, yes_.

My trousers were in the way, and cutting off the circulation across my thighs. I hated to leave his blissful ministrations, but I was too-quickly approaching orgasm and I wanted it to last. I stopped his hands and climbed off long enough to remove the rest of my clothing. Harry kicked off his pants with an impatient movement and then held out a hand to welcome me back.

I took my place once more and asked, "Where is my wand?"

"Um, floor, I think. _Accio_ Draco's wand!" It snapped into his hand and he smirked at me.

"Prat," I said without malice and took the wand to cast a series of necessary spells. They left me breathless and aching, ready for him at long last. I guided his cock towards into position and then lifted and lowered myself. Despite the lubrication, it burned going in. Two weeks did not seem like a long time, in retrospect, but to my arse it felt much longer.

"All right?" he asked and stroked my thighs in a soothing motion.

I nodded, and kept going until he was fully sheathed. I paused then and our eyes met and locked. I leaned down and kissed him. His hands curved around my arse, gripping tightly and releasing. When I could breathe normally again, I straightened and began to move.

He took up my wand and spelled the heavy green curtains open. Grey daylight filled the room and I smiled when he said, "I want to see you."

I felt only vaguely self-conscious when I wrapped my hand around my cock. His eyes dropped to it and stayed there, watching each stroke as I rose and fell in slow rhythm, riding him until his breath came in ragged pants and his hands quivered against my skin.

"So close. _Draco_."

I had forgotten how much I loved the sound of his voice speaking my name, especially in the throes of passion. I grinned like a Cheshire cat as I stopped moving and earned a slap against my arse.

"Brat," he said, "don't stop."

I chuckled, but could not stand the suspense, myself, so I resumed my movements, rocking harder, faster, and jerking at my cock as the tension built, curling like a tightening coil until it exploded—all over Harry's chest.

I felt him jolting against me at the same time, his hands squeezing hard enough to bruise, and a hoarse cry spilling from his lips. I collapsed against him, sweaty and aching. His hot breath panted against my hair and his hands let go their punishing grip to roam over my back.

"Welcome home," I murmured.

"Never leaving again," he replied.

"Promise?"

One hand tangled in my hair and he pulled, tugging until I met his serious green gaze. "I promise," he said firmly. "Whatever happens, whatever stupid thing we fight about, we'll work it out. No more running away."

I nodded. "If it's any consolation, it helped me work out a few things. You were right about me not trying very hard. Even my mother noticed it."

He blinked. "Your mother?"

I wrinkled my nose. "You have supporters in unexpected places."

"I noticed. Pansy sent me a Howler yesterday."

It was my turn to be surprised. "What did it say?"

"Well, it was a bit vague. It said, 'Get your head out of your arse, Potter, or I'll do it for you!' Not sure what that means, exactly, but definitely something I should avoid."

I bit my lip to suppress a laugh. "I do love that girl. _Not_ in a marrying sort of way."

"I imagine not. Sorry about that assumption, by the way. I wasn't thinking very clearly through the jealousy."

"I know the feeling." I eased away from him and sighed at the sticky, wet residue. "I retract my demand regarding the bed, because we will need to relocate to the shower shortly."

"I look forward to that," he said. "As soon as I can move again."

I nodded, feeling lethargic. And happy, something I'd begun to think I'd never feel again.

"I'm going to stop taking so many long assignments," Harry said after a quiet moment. "And working late. That's just stupid."

I snorted. "If I keep working at St Mungo's, I'll be the one with the erratic schedule and late hours."

His hand stilled in my hair and I made a sound of protest until he obediently resumed his gentle stroking. "And will you? Keep working there?"

"I think I will. I rather like it, crazy as it seems. There is a woman there I think you would quite enjoy meeting. Her name is Tabitha."

"This won't be easy, with both of us having insane work schedules."

"Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, is it? We will just have to make every moment count. Face it, Potter, you're stuck with me."

"And vice-versa, Malfoy."

I kissed him, hard, and only stopped when a tapping on the window distracted me. I groaned, but levered myself away from Harry's warmth to open the window and admit Blaise's owl. It carried Harry's wand and a note. I untied both and tossed Harry his length of holly before reading the note aloud.

_Idiots,_

_When you are done with the makeup shagging, meet the four of us for lunch at the Leaky._

_Yes, I said the four of us. Amazing, isn't it?_

_Blaise and Pansy_

_Granger and Weasel_

**_PS (Might hurry before we kill each other – Ron)_**

I looked at Harry in amazement.

"Up for a shower and then lunch with friends?"

"As long as the shower involves more makeup shagging."

"Absolutely."

"You're on."

~~END~~!

Thank you for slogging through the torment! I hope the ending made up for it! You didn't really think I would break them up for good, did you? :D


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